Loving Strangers
by WolfKeeper989
Summary: A wounded soul... An injured body… A hurting heart… A shattered existence… Sly, Bentley, Murray, and Carmelita all struggle with the aftermath of the Clockwerk Parts Caper. Can the kindness and love of a few strangers help them to heal? Or will it lead to more heartbreak? This is the prequel to Strangers Like Us. Please read and review.
1. S1 Episode 0: A Wounded Soul

Hi again! So, this is the prequel fic that I promised. As I explained on my profile I realized that the Strangers timeline was pretty bad towards the beginning. In my quest to fix this, I quickly realized that a prequel was needed to make things go a little smoother. So, this prequel will introduce some familiar characters such as Des, Shaun, Beatrice, Ann, Nautica, Carmelita, Joseph and others as well as some new but necessary characters and concepts. Some plot points of Strangers have changed and will change as you will see. But it should be an interesting ride.

**Also, one more note. This story as you may have noticed, has an M rating. This is simply because this story deals with mature themes such as thoughts of suicide, torture, and murder. I realize that some of my readers maybe disgusted by morbid descriptions and graphic violence. I also know that there are some readers who might even be "triggered" by mentions of violence or abuse. Therefore, any extreme or moderately extreme descriptions of violence will be headed by an underlined declaration. A second underlined declaration will denote that the scene has ended. If you fall into any of the previously mentioned categories, please use these headings to bypass any unpleasantness. Thank you. Also, most of the original Sly Cooper characters will be out of character for a healthy portion of this story but I assure you that their original personas will make a reappearance before the story's end.**

**PS A huge THANK YOU to Dragon and Sword Master for betaing this for me and to my sister for working with me in crafting this story and supporting me in my madness!**

**Disclaimer: ****Sly Cooper and other related characters are ****formerly the property of Sucker Punch, inc. and currently the property of Sanzaru, Inc.**** except for Beatrice Montreal, Bryan Moliere, Desiree Mallery, Desiree Monroe, Nautica Macavity, Aubrey Lancaster, Ann Monret, Armand Jaeger, Phillip Dumont, and Claire Bennet which all belong to me. ****Carmen Fox, Carlos Diego Fox, Kitty Petro, and Ling Chu belong to Kitty Petro****.**

**Loving Strangers**

_**Episode 0 (Pilot):**_

**A Wounded Soul**

To the average person, Paris is known as the "City of Love" but on December 21st, people could mistake it for the North Pole. The snow danced a soft pirouette to the tune of Silver Bells, played by a pianist in the middle of the center square as the snowflakes glistened like stars as they descended to the ground, the many lights acting as their personal spotlights. While the soft calls of horse-drawn carriage bells echoed through the streets, adding a realistic background rhythm to the familiar tune. Trilling voices of store-front bells sang out at regular intervals, while the voices of holiday revelers and shoppers alike orchestrated an upbeat chorus. Sadly, not all of the citizens out and about on this night were moving along with the joyous melodies of the holiday season. A lone figure made his way across the rooftops far removed from the buoyant and busy downtown square, making his own melancholy in counterpoint to the celebratory canopy below. Whispered half notes in the form of strangled gasps punctuated the night's hushed, but lithe, tone. The huffs of effort coupled with the sharper, and whining, whole notes of wind whipped past the fleeing figure's face, creating a strained harmony beneath the percussive melody of staccato eighth notes played by footsteps meeting concrete. As the figure kept up their relentless stride, the rustling of his azure clothing added an interesting counter melody of tied eighth notes with the composition finally rounded out by the periodic long quarter note sobs that managed to escape the runner's raw-tuned throat. The sounds would start low and crescendo as they finally crawled out the person's mouth, piercing the air with a keying wail before being choked off.

Sly Cooper, the world's Master Thief, was currently running for his life. Actually, he was running _from_ his life to be more accurate. It had only been about a month and a half since that disastrous Parts caper. He had more power than he knew what to do with at times, however, no matter how hard he tried; he could not outrun himself. The specters and skeletons from his past moaned and rattled their bones in the back of his mind. The thief shook his head violently shoving the monsters' complaints into the deep ravines of his mind, sending the few tears that had escaped the wells of his eyes flying. His throat was screaming for relief and his knees were threatening buckle underneath him. He was exhausted, but he had to get away. It felt as if the cold had shredded his throat to ribbons. His left knee burned, pulled, and throbbed. Sly did not have to look at his knee to know it was swollen and that the sallow scars were standing out vividly against his fur. Strips of badly burned skin that looked stretched around his knee like taunt rubber bands. The marks were from a hot set of six pronged spider claws that the Contessa had ordered to be used to gain information from him. She had switched to using torture instead of spice-aided hypnosis on her more stubborn inmates and saved her precious stores for her more mentally malleable subjects. The slight muscle damage had been permanent but with time the wounds had healed, only leaving behind scars. Sly was quickly learning to work around the newly gained disability. As he continued to push himself, he noted that a few other burn and torture scars were pulling as well. He would deal with them later; right now he just wanted some peace.

As he leaped a gap, he was so focused on tuning out his problems that he miss-timed his landing. He landed on his left leg hard. He could only gasp in agony as his left knee was jarred and he toppled to the concrete. The raccoon could make no other sound as he was too busy trying to swallow down the bile that had rose up in his throat from the pain in his joint. For a moment, he laid on the hard surface and struggled to catch his breath. The pain radiated from his knee to his hip and down to his toes. Finally, he finished collecting his wits and went to stand up. However, he could not put any weight on his left knee. He slowly lowered himself back to the rooftop. He grabbed his cane and placed the end on the rooftop and pushed himself onto his feet. He then leaned on the cane and continued to work his way across the rooftop. He fell on the rooftop once again when a coughing fit seized him, and forced him to the concrete. Once the fit was over he continued to work his way to the other side of the building.

When he reached the edge, he realized that the building was not far from the Seine. He could make it to the tree covered west bank using his para-glider and then make his way back to the hideout from there. Sly readied the quick-release on the para-glider's compartment of his back pack. He then climbed onto the roof's edge, grimacing as he did so. He then balanced on his right leg and fell forward off of the ledge. Then a second later, he pulled the quick release cord. His para-glider seemed to roar as it unfurled from its compartment. Sly grabbed the ropes before feeling the customary jerk of the para-glider getting caught and pulled up by the wind. He then gently drifted down towards the earth.

Sly finally landed with a soft thud in a small section of secluded grass on the bank of the Seine. He slowly began folding up the para-glider he had been using. The soft whispering of the fabric sliding across the grass as he worked was the only sound save for the quiet babbling of the river. Finally, the thief's nightly ritual was ending. But, unfortunately, tonight it had not brought him any comfort or solace. Even as he placed the folded glider in his bag, Sly could feel the emotions he had been trying to suppress frothing and bubbling beneath the surface. The main emotion plaguing the young man was the gnawing guilt that had been constantly devouring him for the last month and a half. Despite the time that had passed, the Master Thief still blamed himself for everything that happened to his friends. Murray lost his van, which was practically his life and Bentley lost his ability to walk. The pain in Sly's chest became overwhelming as he thought of Bentley. He sighed heavily, before preparing to start the long trek home. He looked at the Eiffel Tower in the distance as he trudged along the bank of the mighty river. The water sparkled as the lights of Paris danced in the ripples on the river's ebony surface. As his thoughts continued to grow as black as the water's seemingly unctuous surface, Sly turned on his communicator. Calling ahead to let the others know he was on his way back helped to drive back the notion of disappearing beneath the river and never returning.

"Hey, Murray…Murray!" Sly called softly into the microphone.

"Yeah Sly?" said a soft voice.

"I am heading back," said Sly.

"Where are you?" asked the hippo, his voice thick with sleep. Sly winced; he had not realized how late it was. His friend must have been sleep.

"Sorry, I did not mean to wake you; it must be later than I thought." Sly said apologetically.

"No problem. I had just gotten into bed. Now, where are you?" replied the hippo.

"On the west bank of Seine, about 10 miles south of the Eiffel Tower," Sly answered.

"10-4. You should reach the downtown area in an hour. I'm on my to meet you." said Murray, signing off before Sly could protest. Sly gritted his teeth; his friends had been behaving in a truly stifling and confusing manner lately. They were constantly trying to keep him in sight. However, they had been acting in a rather distant, if not hostile, manner when he was around; at least Bentley was. But, as quickly as the annoyance came, it fled; leaving behind even more guilt along with self-loathing. Here he was getting mad at them for worrying about him, when he should been back at the hideout helping out them out. Especially, Bentley, the friend he had practically kidnapped from the hospital. The one place he probably needed to be. Sly continued limping towards home using his cane, while scowling blackly.

"Why the long face, Cooper?" called a voice in the trees.

"Huh?" said Sly, snapping out of his daze, settling into a fight stance, and trying to locate the assailant that had managed to follow him. Had he really been so lost in his problems that he had been followed without noticing? As he looked around in the darkness, he spotted a white shape in the tree above him. "Oh. Hi Beatrice," muttered the thief, relaxing. Hanging from one of the tree's branches was an ivory fruit bat with blond hair. She was an accomplice, aid, and unofficial big sister to the Cooper Gang, having grew up with them in the same orphanage. She was a techno genius like Bentley and just as slick as Sly at times. Sly watched the bat warily as she was pretty astute and he did not feel like having another "heart to heart" with anyone.

"Hi, yourself." she said as she uncrossed her gossamer wings and glided down to the ground, looking like an angel descending from the heavens. She landed next to Sly and eyed him with searching grey eyes. Sly met her stare with a steely glare before looking away and continuing down the bank. "Where are you headed this late?"

"Nowhere, just heading home," He grumped. The female bat fell into step with the young man and continued to interrogate him.

"So, finally decided to drag yourself back to the hideout since you finally hurt yourself, hm?" she scolded. Sly huffed in annoyance, before he attempted to refute her claim.

"No! I did not hurt myself on purpose! I had a bad landing!" he explained. The bat gave him a skeptical glare.

"Liar! I know you. You are a thief, but you're a terrible liar! At least, to me you are. Now, tell me the truth." She said firmly. Sly couldn't help but frown at being caught out. He felt his ears flatten against his head in consternation and slight embarrassment. How did she always make him feel like a child being scolded by his mother? Sure, his answer had been a vague truth. But, he really did not feel like talking. Sadly, Beatrice could out do him easily in the stubborn department and she wanted him to talk. Sly was resigned to having to talk to the bat as he would not be able to outrun her, not with a bad knee. Sly remained doggedly silent as he contemplated exactly what he would say to the bat so that she would get off his case. After moment he bit out,

"Ok, I went for a run and wrenched my knee. Happy?" The bat's eyes narrowed in disapproval.

"Happy? No, I am not _happy_, Shaun Monroe!" hissed the blonde. Sly winced at the sharpness of her tone and the use of his birth name. Shame made his cheeks practically glow red. He looked at the bat using his peripheral vision and felt two feet tall. The blonde's face was screwed up in an angry sneer and her eyes were merely slits in her pointed face. Sly winced. "Great going, Cooper... now you have pissed her off! She's never going to leave you alone!" he mentally grumbled to himself. He tried to explain himself , but was unable to do so when a coughing fit made talking impossible.

"I just wanted to get out for a bit. I was getting tired of being cooped up in the cabin." he finally explained between lingering coughs, hoping that it would cool her anger some.

"Then why not take a walk around the field outside the cabin? There was plenty of space to roam around." she pointed out mercilessly, although her gray eyes had been softened by concern.

The fruit bat could only watch as the teenager continued to cough and brood. Beatrice was not really angry, she was more concerned than anything else. Since she was six years older than Sly, she had a tendency to treat him like a little brother. She had watched Sly Cooper grow from a scared, but determined little boy to this sullen, but still very determined young man. It truly broke her heart to see him suffering. She had been keeping up with the Clockwerk Parts deal as closely as she and Bryan could. They had, unfortunately, gotten new jobs at the time and were getting ready to move into a new home. They were currently was in Paris proper to check on the gang after hearing from a panicked Ann that the boys had barely made it back to Paris alive. Now, that she had seen Sly's condition with her own eyes, she could understand Ann's worry. Sly looked worn and drawn. The honey brown eyes that used to glow with intelligence and mischief, now were lifeless. She also thought she had seen the remnants of tear stains on the teenager's face, but she knew he would drop dead before admitting it.

Beatrice kept an eye out for anything suspicious, while Sly continued to limp his way home. She spotted another white shape moving through the trees. Her fiancé. He wasn't too sure about this idea of her's, though. She was convinced if they did not talk to Sly now, he would disappear into thin air once the gang got their bearings back. She sighed. Her future husband was convinced that confronting Sly now would just make the raccoon stand-offish. While she was forced to agree that this might happened, she believed that things would get worse if they didn't. Therefore, waiting may not yield the results they were looking for. She looked back at Sly once more and sighed. His shoulders were hunched and his ears were flat against his head. He was clearly stressed by the conversation.

"How long have you had that cough?" she asked, deciding to change the subject for now. He waved away her question.

"It's an old lingering cough that stayed from an infection I had a week ago . It will go away soon." he assured her. He did not look at the bat because, he knew she was wearing a skeptical look on her face. But he was willing to deal with her hen-pecking over his physical health than trying to dance around her on the issue of the Clockwerk Parts and how he was _really_ feeling. But, man, he wished this nagging cough would leave.

"Come on, Sly. Talk to me. What's wrong?" she asked, practically begging her friend to talk. She watched Sly gnaw on his bottom lip, before finally blurting out,

"Finally got rid of Clockwerk, but Bentley and Murray had to pay some high prices for my problem!"

"Did they? How high a price?" she asked.

"You know... I know you know. After all, you wouldn't be here, if Ann had not said anything! But if you must know... Murray lost his van and Bentley…lost his ability to walk. Me on the other hand? I come out scott-free!" Sly bitterly snarled.

"Did you? Tell me, who is currently suffering from scars, still healing burns, and pulled muscles? Who was physically and mentally tortured?" she asked pointedly. She watched Sly falter a moment, but he caught himself and continued to walk away.

"That's irrelevant." said Sly dismissively over his shoulder. Beatrice hissed in frustration, why was he being so damned stubborn?

"Irrelevant how, Shaun?! How is the Contessa torturing you irrelevant?!" she shrieked. Sly winced at the shrillness of her voice.

"It was the price I needed to pay. I paid it, so it is irrelevant." he stated. Beatrice was no fool... she knew what happened had affected Shaun deeply, his nonchalance was just a mask to hide his true feelings on the matter. She continued to push hoping that he would finally crack and be honest.

"Price to pay for what?" she asked sarcastically.

"Getting- rid of Clockwerk. That is all." he answered back hastily. Sly was reeling, he couldn't keep up his facade of indifference much longer. Every emotion that he possessed was screaming to be acknowledged. He was struggling to keep them at bay. Why couldn't she just let it go? He deserved to hurt, he had messed around with the wrong person and gotten caught. What made it even worse was that his friends paid for _his_ mistake. That was why he never complained, bearing his torment in silence would be his repentance. "Can you just drop it, now?"

"No, not until I understand why you are forcing yourself to suffer!" she rasped, as she finally felt tears of frustration and sadness flowing down her face.

Sly noticed the change in her voice. He looked at the bat and felt even worse. The bat was wiping futilely at her eyes. Sly swallowed hard. He didn't realize that she was genuinely concerned and not just being pushy or nosy. He quickly looked away, but it was too late. He already felt one tear making its way down his face. Another was quickly following down the other side of his face. Before he could think to stop them, tears were coming in torrents. He bit his lip as he held his breath. He was trying to will the tears away, but he just couldn't. His lungs started to burn, but Sly refused to breathe. He knew that as soon as he opened his mouth, he would start bawling. The teen was terrified that he would not be able to stop. No, he had to stay strong, the gang couldn't afford for him to have a break down. Bentley and Murray needed him. But it was just too much: his head was pounding, his back was throbbing, his knee was stiff and in agony, and he was truly heartsick. And his family's magic was churning beneath his skin like a storm. Sly felt the wind start to pick up. The raccoon gasped. "No... not again." he thought. He abandoned his fight with his tears and began to battle his magic.

He had been fighting this particular battle since he was kid. He had discovered from the Thievius Raccoonus that his ancestor Slytankhamen, had not only been a high priest of the God known as Heka, but a magus. A being that could use and harness magic. It was the reason his family could use all those strange abilities in the Thievius Raccoonus like becoming invisible and walking on air. The magic had continued to serve the Coopers well in their endeavors long after Slytankhamen had passed on. However, it also continued to grow and change. Sly, whether he liked it or not, was an extremely powerful magus. It became a huge problem when he lost control of his emotions, as his magic would react to them. Even now as he fought to subdue the power, the wind continued to increase in force and volume and the snowflakes had changed into full blown flecks of snow. The simple snow flurry had turned into a full blown blizzard. Sly had sunk to his knees, unable to hold himself up and fight his magic. By now the teen was openly sobbing. He hated not being in control of himself, he was always terrified of losing himself to the power and madness. All the raccoon could do was ride it out and pray that he would be ok in the end. It was so cold, and lonely. The wind was roaring and blocked out any other sounds... the temperature had dropped even lower. Beatrice had probably been scared off by the sudden change in the weather, his mother had always been afraid of him whenever he had out bursts as a child. As he became resigned to weathering the magical storm alone once more, he felt a pair of warm arms wrap around him.

Beatrice had noticed the instant that Shaun's magic had broken free, the temperature had dropped considerably and the wind had turned wild. She watched as Shaun's body stiffened as he tried to rein in the errant energy. She knew how much Shaun feared losing control of his magic. She wasn't completely sure but she guessed that the fear stemmed not only from the loss of control, but also something from his childhood before the orphanage. Often times, Sly had been just as paralyzed by fear as the other children had been whenever he happened to lose it. There had only been 2 major incidents that Beatrice could recall. There had been lots of other minor incidents as well. Things like toys flying at bullies, lights flickering on occasion, small breakables shattering if they were close to the raccoon while he was in a temper, amongst other things. Shaun did his best to keep a tight lid on it, but he was still just a kid.

As the wind had continued to get louder and the snowflakes get larger, Beatrice had to shield her eyes from the harsh elements. She called a warning to her fiancé and breathed a sigh of relief when Bryan landed behind a nearby tree and took cover. She then pulled her wings as close to her body as she could and began to fight her way through the blizzard-like conditions, ignoring Bryan's entreaties to take cover. She grunted and gasped as she struggled forward, using her arms to shield her face. She was small compared to most people as she was a bat after all, they were naturally small. The winds seemed to bully the bat as they shoved her in one direction than another, but she remained determined to find her little sibling in the mess. She wished that she could use her echolocation ability; unfortunately the raging winds would just disrupt it. Finally, she had spotted a hint of blue in front of her. She continued to push forward until suddenly the wind seemed to die around her. She could still hear the wind as clear as day, but it had just stopped. She cautiously lowered her arms and she gasped in amazement. She was literally standing in the "eye" of the storm, there was no wind and very little snow, but the wind and snow continued to churn violently around the two. She always figured that Shaun's magic protected him from his own power, now she knew for certain. About a foot from where she stood, Shaun was on his knees sobbing. She did not hesitate in running over to the teen's side and kneeling beside him. She then wrapped her arms around the trembling youth.

"It's ok, Shaun, it's ok." Beatrice cooed, trying to soothe her distraught friend, despite the frigid storm going on around them. She felt the trembling start to ease while Shaun continued to weep. As the raccoon started to calm down, the winds began to die down. The brave bat still continued speaking words of comfort to the miserable magus. He now had his arms wrapped around her middle, huddling like a frightened mouse in her embrace. Beatrice felt pity well up within her heart for the kid. How long had he been the comforter without ever being comforted? She held him and watched in no small amount of amazement as the wind finally ceased and the snow changed back into small, delicate snowflakes. She absentmindedly ran her hand through his silver locks, as Shaun finally found his voice.

"No, it's not. I messed up, Bea! I messed up and I can't fix any of it!" he moaned. Beatrice mused to herself, "So, that is what's bothering him." Beatrice knew the thief put a lot of pressure on himself to do well. Sadly, one could not go through life without making mistakes. She heard a noise beside her, she turned and gave her fiancé a melancholy glance. He knelt beside the two of them, whispering,

"You all most gave me a heart attack!" Beatrice did not show any reaction to his comment, except to whisper back,

"I am sorry, but I had to do something!" Bryan just shook his head. He knew that Beatrice cared for the boys, he did as well. But, Beatrice was a woman driven by her heart. She did what she felt was right. He just really wished she wouldn't kill him while doing so. He looked at the raccoon cocooned in her arms and felt sympathy for him. He understood the pressure that he was under, always having to appear as though he was always calm and collected even when things were going to hell around them. He knew that both Bentley and Murray depended on Sly substantially for physical and emotional support. He was sure that he that Sly gave every ounce of himself he could to them, but spared nothing for himself. Sly Cooper was a better person than most folks knew.

"I know, dear. But, even if things can't be fixed, I know that life will continue on regardless." she said to the magus. She watched as Bryan picked up Sly's dropped cane and hat.

"We need to start making our way home. We have a four and half-hour drive ahead of us, and it's only getting colder." Bryan said as he made his way back to her side. Beatrice nodded softly before gesturing to the teen in her arms. "We'll just take him with us."

"Okay Sly, we have to leave now." said Beatrice softly. The thief looked at her in surprise. The bat reached into the pocket of her pants and pulled out a handkerchief. "Here, use this to wipe your face." The teen blushed scarlet, but took the offered cloth and began to clean his face. Once he was finished, she took the handkerchief back without a word. Then she slipped her arm underneath his shoulders, and hauled him to his feet. She then turned and started following her fiancé back to their car. When Shaun started to protest, the couple quickly reassured him that they were just going to their car. The thief tried to weasel out of going with them by saying that Murray was coming to pick him up. However, the bats would hear nothing of it. Bryan quickly pulled out his mobile, and called the hippo. He reassured Murray that Shaun was leaving with them and that they would see him in a few days. After that Shaun just gave up, allowing Beatrice to guide him to their waiting four door Peugeot. Beatrice slowly made her way towards the car while Bryan went ahead to open the door. After the hobbling pair reached the car, Bryan then worked the backpack off of Shaun's shoulders before letting the two climb into the back seat. Bryan got in and started the car...

After riding for an hour, Sly began to feel nervous. His face showed no such torment, but his traitorous hands did. They pulled and fretted with the seat belt he was wearing, as if trying to remove it. He finally noticed his fingers frantic movements and stopped, placing his hands in lap. He had seen them get onto the A6* a while back. Just where were they taking him? He only knew the two bats fairly well. They had been the only other children besides Annie, Bentley, and Murray that ever bothered to interact with him at the orphanage. But they had only been around Sly for two years, before they left the orphanage at the age of 18. They also helped them with a few jobs here and there. But Sly was still weary of their motives, after all, trusting Neyla almost got them all killed. As the car continued down the concrete ribbon, Sly just stared out the window wishing someone would turn off the heat. The turtle neck, gloves, and pants he wore had kept him warm while he was out in the cold; but now they were slowly roasting him alive. Finally, as the last of Paris's lights disappeared and the last of his frayed nerves snapped, he spoke.

"Can someone please turn off the heat? And where are you taking me?" he said. He had meant for the statements to sound angry and demanding, but they came out almost pleading. He was exhausted and, loathed as he was to admit it, scared. He heard Bryan reach over and turn off the heat. Sly choked on a few more coughs before Bryan could answer his question.

"We are taking you to our home near Lyon." Beatrice said a moment later. Lyon? That was at least 4 hours, longer if one avoided the toll road, from Paris! Sly felt his heart sink. "Oh boy... what have you landed yourself in this time, Cooper?" he thought. He continued staring morosely out the window; his eyes tracking the signs as they flew by the car. He internally groaned. It was going hell trying to get back to Paris. He sighed.

"Sit back and relax, Shaun. We are not going to hurt you." said Bryan from the front seat. Sly looked over and saw Bryan eyeing him from the rear-view mirror. Sly finally decided to sit back after his back began its protest once more. The seat was soft, fabric instead of the usual vinyl. Shaun finally felt the fatigue from his run and his sobbing fit earlier crash down on him. His eyes were throbbing, his limbs felt heavy, and even his heart beat in a weary rhythm. Sly's head seemed to gravitate towards the headrest behind him, as if being pulled by a magnet. He laid his head against the seat, no longer having the will to keep his head up. He stared at the car's ceiling through half-lidded eyes as he struggled to keep his eyes open. He knew it was an uphill battle, though. His eyes were constantly sliding open and shut again. Eventually, Sly lost the war with sleep and slipped into dreamland somewhere between Evry and Lyon...

* * *

_*The A6 in France is like a toll interstate highway here in the US or anywhere else for that matter. At least it is the same concept._

**Okay... I feel like I need to explain myself. I freely admit that I was writing the original "Strangers Like Us" on the fly... not all the details had been ironed out. So as I grew as an author, what I wanted to do with the story and characters grew and changed... So, Strangers has grown into a series with sequels in the works. But as I finished the story, the characters that I wanted to work with were slowly starting to come into focus and solidifying... including their backgrounds. So, the prequel was born out of the need for me to introduce the characterizations that I am planning on using in the Strangers Like Us rewrite and in the rest of the series. Also there were a lot of filler characters that I shoe-horned in but did not use, like Beatrice and Bryan. But now thanks to this prequel, I will have the space, plot, and time to utilize them. Also, major characters like Desiree, Carmelita, Bentley, Murray, Joseph Macavity, and Nautica Macavity will have more screen time.**

**So, I hope I haven't confused you all too much with this new beginning... but most of the mentioned background stuff, the concept of a magus, and Sly's magic will be explained and expounded on as the story progresses.**

**Also, I know Sly's character was angst-y, but I just felt the character development for Sly between games 2 and 3, were really lacking. I mean for all intents and purposes Bentley and Murray went through some tough things following the parts and Sly. Just to see that the only time Sly seems to show any sense of guilt about the events in Sly 2 is when Murray is whining about the van of all things! Two, his dad was murdered in front of him at the age of 8 according to the game, 10 in my story. That is bound to leave a mark of some kind. So, Shaun's character in this will be a bit dark and angst, but not all of the time and definitely not forever. But, please note that he will be behaving a little out of character for a bit. Because according to my story and the game plot, he has suffered a few traumatic incidences within the last few months, so he will need some time to pull himself together.**

**Thanks! And please leave a review... I really want to know how you all feel about this prequel.**


	2. S1 Episode 1: Hints of Trouble

Glad you guys are enjoying my fic! Thank to all my reviewers, including the ones for this story and my other Sly fics!

**A quick note: I am planning three more sequels after Strangers Like Us. One of the final sequels will be really big and involve a lot of characters. Therefore, I am going to need the help of my readers. Throughout the remaining chapters and sequels, I am going to place little Easter Eggs, if you will. These will be references from various movies, books, shows and games. If you spot them, let me know in your review, and let me know where they are from. Anyone who gets the most the fastest, wins. Then I will use an original character of their creation in my final story. There will be a new contest each chapter, so please remember to keep an eye out and leave a review as I do like hearing your thoughts on my work.**

**Your hints for this chapter: There is **_**1**_** Easter Egg in this chapter. It deals with numbers. This one deals with shape and size. **

**Disclaimer: ****Sly Cooper and other related characters are ****formerly the property of Sucker Punch, inc. and currently the property of Sanzaru, Inc.**** except for Beatrice Montreal, Bryan Moliere, Desiree Mallery, Desiree Monroe, Nautica Macavity, Aubrey Lancaster, Ann Monret, Armand Jaeger, Phillip Dumont, and Claire Bennet which all belong to me. ****Carmen Fox, Carlos Diego Fox, Kitty Petro, and Ling Chu belong to Kitty Petro****.**

_**Season 1: "When Strangers Meet"**_

_**Arc 1: "Shattered Past, Broken Present"**_

**Episode 1: **

**Hints of Trouble**

**This is a mature scene, so if you don't want to deal with it... you have been warned.**

Sly moaned as he came to, again. His head was still sore; the dull ache in his head beat a syncopated and halted rhythm against the sides of his skull. How long had he been asleep? It probably wasn't very long since the pain that radiated all over his body made sleeping a real herculean task. They had beaten him black and blue... thankfully nothing was broken as far as he knew, but at this point, the images and memories swirled around in his head at such a dizzying speed that the abyss seemed to wrap around him like a straight jacket, choking him. All around, he could only see darkness. However, nothing stayed still long enough for any concrete information to register in his head, so he felt like he was drowning and free falling at the same time. The black miasma seemed to twist and twirl around him, as if he was caught in the inky eye of an F5 tornado. His body longed to rebel and expel everything that was in his stomach, but he had not been fed in a while, so he doubted that anything besides the stew of acids from his stomach would come up.

The moon was full... at least it was the last time he looked up at the sky. That had been... actually, he couldn't remember how long ago that was. He could hazard a guess that he had been locked in "the hole" for about a week and half, or was it two weeks now, or had it only been a few days? Regardless of how long ago it had been, he was in this miserable place because he was being insubordinate to the Contessa. He had mostly been lost in his own head... and for him; that had always been dangerous. It was a blessing that he was nocturnal, as the specters of his past did not seem so scary during the semi-lighted hours of sleep he got during the day. At night, however, they seemed to grow...as if they drew their very essence from the night's shadow and tarlike marrow. For the last few days, he had become increasingly jumpy and agitated despite the pain he was in. Maybe it had to do with the small space he was in.

"The Hole", as the locals called it, was a literal hole in the ground; it was specifically 6 feet wide and 6 feet deep. Sly could walk a little ways, but not far. He could sit or lay down somewhat, but that was all. The hole was covered by a metal tent-like structure that shut him off from the rest of the world. The cover was a rectangular prism shape with rounded off corners, with the door and walls were at least 5 feet thick and no sound got in or out, except through the air holes. The metal contraption had small pores along the ridge where the front and back of the shape met, allowing not only the wind, but whatever the weather was doing in. He was sure the weather was also meant to help persuade the occupant to be on his or her best behavior once allowed back outside. He had attempted to climb the walls of the hole multiple times, but he could not make it any further than from one side of the hole to the other as his body was too injured to make the attempt, or motion, of climbing up. Besides, he vaguely recalled, the door was too heavy to move, and the eyehole slot was locked shut from the outside. At least from what he could remember from when he was first thrown into the dingy fissure, but that thought soon slipped away like oil poured from an Indian oil jar. Sly was still too physically broken from his previous torture at the hands of the twisted and demented Contessa and her henchmen. His nose twitched in derision as the smells of stale, sordid fur and skin mixed with the thick, sharp metallic stenches of congealed and dried blood, moist dirt, old vomit, and other wastes.

He tried to mentally regain his bearings once again, but it was soon interrupted by the unusual twitching of his hands and feet along with the pain the involuntary actions caused. He was not entirely sure what was causing it. Maybe, it was from the lack of food, or maybe it was just that he was not used to being immobile for so long. The last time he had been in a space like this was when his father died. Sly instinctively swallowed with that thought. Then the sound of the eyehole cover sliding out of place caused Sly to jerk in surprise, quickly biting back a cry, in case it was a guard. He would not give them the satisfaction of hearing his weakness. A horizontal rectangular strip of light fell into the hole and bathed the center of the pit prison with a few rays of blessed light. Sly resisted the urge to crawl towards it like a starving man towards water. For one, his pride would not allow it, even if he could not put two and two together to get four at the moment, and secondly, his bruised and battered body gave him extra incentive to stay put. However, what he heard next shocked the young raccoon.

"Or maybe, you're suffering from shock. Large amounts of physical damage can cause mild to severe shock. You may need to be seen by a healthcare professional," the voice sounded strangely like Bentley, although something seemed off about his voice, or maybe it was a weirdly pitched version of his own voice?

"Bentley?" he questioned softly, before being startled by how awful he sounded and how much his throat hurt. A brief snippet of memory crossed through him as he remembered screaming while a thug beat him mercilessly with a night stick.

Sly shifted slightly, trying to move closer to the light so that he could look up and see out of the small slit in the door. He shifted only a little, his back screaming in protest as a pitiful whimper crawled out of his throat. Various scratches and lacerations that had fused to his shirt via his dried blood pulled and stretched causing stabs of pain to rip through his back. Some of the dirt that had loosened during his sleep began falling onto his fur and nose, due to him changing positions. Some also landed on his nose, causing him to sneeze. It was then that Sly had seen his second glimpse of light since being incarcerated. The bright white light blinded him, as all the pain sensing nerves in the raccoon's body fired at the same time, creating an illusion of light in front of his eyes. Collapsing from the overload of pain, Sly succumbed to an entirely different abyss, the one of unconsciousness.

All too soon though, a terror inducing chimera nightmare, made up of terrifying memories of death and near misses, wrenched him from the arms of unconsciousness and threw him back into the hellish pit that currently held him captive in its gaping mouth. This time, however, he did not hurt as much, but he was still very sore and achy before realizing that he was able to move around a little more freely. He grimaced slightly as he realized that bandages were wrapped around his wounds and that he was shirtless. There had been several bruises and lacerations decorating his back and sides. his hands, arms, knees, and feet also held injuries: minor burns from the several amounts of "shock therapy", patches of skin that wept small droplets of blood from where the henchmen had ripped out his fur, and other injuries that Sly couldn't remember. They were also bandaged. Sly snorted in derision, the Contessa was keeping him barely alive for the simple fact that he was her only chance of gaining a lead on the location of his gang's spoils. He must have been in an awful state for them to remove him from the hole long enough to treat him. Now that he wasn't delirious with pain, he could finally start thinking again. Concentrating, he tried to recall what happened.

The whole problem started because Sly had been chasing after a dead owl. Clockwerk haunted Sly's ancestors, both in the living and dreaming worlds… the demonic bird had claimed a number of Cooper clan members, including his father. He had been tracking down the owl's robotic body parts that had been used in a mish-mash collection of crazy schemes that made little sense when looked at as a whole. However, Sly continued to pursue the stolen parts in the hope that he could finally put his messy past behind him. Initially, the need to regain his family's honor back, and prove himself worth of their name by getting the family's legendary tome back consumed the raccoon. Eventually, he managed to do just that, and in the end it brought him face to face with Clockwerk, the metallic maniac. They fought and Sly came out on top, but a few years later the parts were retrieved and displayed in the Cairo Museum of Natural History. Before the Cooper Gang could grab them, however, the Klaww Gang got to them. They managed to grab the Clockwerk tail feathers, heart, and wings before they were captured. The members of the Klaww Gang were captured because they were betrayed by their, well his, informant, Captain Neyla Saxena. Bentley lucked out as the turtle had not been in the same area as Sly and Murray. Sly's heart constricted momentarily in guilt as he thought about the trouble this mission had brought to his two companions, especially since the two of them were the only family he had.

After his father's murder, he had been sent to the local orphanage and it was between there and the streets that the young raccoon thief grew up. Sly moaned as he felt another headache starting to build. He reached up slowly, being mindful of his tender and still healing state, and rubbed his temples with both bandaged hands. As he rested his head in his hands, he mentally checked his body to get a better assessment of his condition. He could smell that his injuries had been thoroughly cleaned. He felt the pull and strain of some of his muscles. But there was not much that he could do about those as he would have to let them heal in their own time. His left ear twitched when a drop of rain landed on it. A few moments later, a steady rain began falling, causing small streams of water to cascade down into the pit and soak the raccoon, as well as the ground beneath him. Sly groaned miserably as he slowly leaned over to his right and crawled out from under the porous ridge. Eventually, he reached the wall again and sat down once more with his back resting against the wall. The crawl into the darkness had unnerved him somewhat as he still could not see anything in front of him, so he had to feel his way around. Furthermore, the short trek had exhausted him. He was still recovering and as a result, was very weak.

He continued to check over his body, making note of the subtle shivers running through his frame at the moment. They were probably an indicator of a fever. It had already been freezing in the pit during the night, but if you added in the rain and the shock he suffered from earlier, he might be fighting this fever for a while. Sly rested his head against the wall, listening to the rain drip into the pit. After a while, a sleepy lassitude worked its way into Sly's bones. He shifted and shook his head, trying to fight the heavy blanket of weariness that settled on him, but before he knew what happened... the scenery had changed.

He was back in the orphanage; the three cots with frayed thin blankets, so thin that they barely held a breeze at bay, were still in the same places they were in when the boys left. It was still Spartan in its decoration, and the one window in the room was still crooked at the base. Sly remembered having to use dirty clothes to block the cold air coming in from the crack created by the bad positioning during the winter and how insufferable the heat was during the summer. He also remembered being able to practically see the thermal waves rolling up from the wooden floorboards and practically smelling the sweaty and humid stench that hung in the air during summer months.

But before he could get immersed in his memories, a sharp uneasiness raced down his spine. Despite the familiarity of the room, Sly was sure that something wasn't right about this scenario. Sly remembered his torture and subsequent incarceration in that hellish pit vividly. He continued to ponder on this predicament for a moment longer before he deduced that he was dreaming. Then, his mental musings were interrupted when a creaking sound entered his ears. Turning around quickly, Sly tried to squelch his rising fear and panic as the trap door to their room was slowly opening of its own accord. A sanguine red light was slowly oozing out from under the sluggishly growing opening. As the trap door slowly slid into its open position, the raccoon just sunk to his knees as the oppressive weight of helplessness and terror bore down on his mind, body, and soul. The raccoon could only moan in resignation as he realized with an anguished, and defeated, heart that he was in the sordid throes of yet another nightmare.

What horror would he have to remember now he wondered, as all the old memories came back to him? Would it be the bloody death of his father, and the subsequent fire that burned his remains beyond recognition? Or what about that creepy, yet terrifying, fight to the death with Clockwerk? Or maybe it would be his turbulent adolescence at Happy Campers? His head had no shortage of traumatic and dark memories. At this point, the raccoon barely had a chance to scream his denial, before the reddish-brown light engulfed him. The light faded away and the thief was surprised to find himself in the middle of a jungle, the same obscure Indian jungle that Rajan was hiding in, to be exact. He would always remember this perilous and lush ground as the site of one of his biggest mistakes. He let himself be fooled and betrayed by Neyla, and it had cost him his freedom. Even worse, it also cost Murray his freedom as well, and Carmelita lost her reputation as an Interpol Officer. As Sly ruminated over the many consequences of his terrible decision, he practically heard Bentley's admonishing voice in his ear.

"I told you so, Sly!"

Then the thief's heart skipped a beat when he realized one traumatizing fact: he had not seen Bentley when they were loaded up like cattle for slaughter. His poor little brother was lost in the savage jungle all alone! Panic set in and removed any sense of coherent thought as Sly tore through the thick foliage, screaming the turtle's name. Sly finally happened upon a path that had not been swallowed up by underbrush and boreal fodder.

He surged forward with a fresh burst of speed, moving much faster now that his progress was not being hindered by ensnaring vines and roots. The path looked liked it had been carved by the efforts of many persistent wanders. As Sly came over a hill, he thought he saw a short figure a little ways down the path. Getting closer, the raccoon noticed that the figure was hunched over and hobbling in his direction. Despite the lack of lighting, Sly immediately recognized his teammate. Initially sagging in relief at the sight of the turtle, his heart sagged when he finally saw the damage done to his brother. Bentley was hunched over because he was clutching at his cracked shell, as if someone had tried taking a large bite out of the turtle, but instead only damaging the hard protective shell. There was a short gash in the yielding green flesh as blood dripped from the wound. Bentley's legs finally gave out and the turtle crumpled to the ground at Sly's feet. The raccoon quickly knelt down next to his friend and gently shook the reptile's uninjured shoulder. Bentley moaned. The reptile slowly opened his eyes and looked at Sly. Sly, in turn, reeled back in horror. His friend's eyes had been ripped out of their sockets. The empty slots oozed blood and fluids, the putrid mixture slid down Bentley's cheeks like tears. Sly was trying not to retch at the sight before him. After a valiant effort, the raccoon managed to swallow the bile in his throat before sprouting out apologies.

Bentley only gurgled in response, and then the turtle began to gasp for air. Panicking slightly, Sly rolled his friend onto his back and tilted the turtle's head back slightly, hoping that opening the turtle's airway would help his injured sibling breathe easier. Unfortunately, it was to no avail as Bentley's gasping and gurgling only grew worse. Sly could only watch in horror as his friend's condition deteriorated, until Bentley drew his final shaky breath. Sly called for Bentley over and over again, but he got no response. Despair crashed into Sly as he howled his denial to sky...

**This mature scene is complete.**

Sly was startled awake by his own his voice. He looked about in a weary, yet panicky, manner. It was pitch black still and his back was resting against something solid. At first, he convinced himself that he was still captive in "The Hole". But as his anxiety and ill-at-ease faded, Sly began noticing subtle differences that said otherwise. First, the air wasn't thick with all the disgusting and stale scents he smelled earlier, it was clean and warm. Second, although he ached all over, he wasn't in the agony he was earlier. Also, the bandages were missing, and he was wearing a shirt once more. He also noted that he was wearing pants, too. Sly cautiously ran his hands down his body, frowning in confusion when his hands hit a comforter. _A bed?_ He asked himself before Sly remembered where he was; the home of his childhood friends Beatrice Montreal and Bryan Moliere. They had brought the distraught and exhausted thief home with them after his breakdown last night. Sly ran a frustrated hand through his unkempt hair. It was now obvious that he had been suffering through a flashback from his time in the Contessa's clutches; he had actually had a few nightmares about Bentley dying during his imprisonment. Even as the thought of the witch crossed his mind, the raccoon shuddered. His thoughts were suddenly interrupted when the room was suddenly flooded with light.

Beatrice took in the sight that met her eyes with a sigh. Shaun was hunched in the corner of the bed, his back pressed uncomfortably against the walls that formed the corner the bed rested in. His eyes were scrunched together; no doubt the light was hurting his eyes. His tail was wrapped around his middle, a clear sign that he was distressed. _Probably a nightmare..._ she mused to herself. Instead of speaking, she moved to his bedside, her clawed feet clicking softly on the cherry hardwood floor. He hunched over in the bed as he began coughing. She waited for the episode to cease and then proceeded to put Shaun back to bed. She gently pulled at the twisted covers, uncoiling them from around Shaun's legs, holding them open so that Shaun could get back into bed properly. She waited for the teen to lie back down and then covered him up again. She then sat on the edge of the bed and started running her fingers through his hair, mildly noting that his natural onyx color was starting to grow back in at the roots. She doubted that the teen had noticed.

"S'rry, Bea." he mumbled apologetically.

"No need to be. Everybody has nightmares," she assured him, smiling softly at the nickname. The raccoon moved closer to her, unconsciously soaking up as much of her comfort as he could. "Want to talk about it?" The young man shook his head, refusing to abandon anymore of his pride. She sighed but remained by his side. After a few moments of companionable silence, the teen sighed.

"I just- feel so guilty about everything," he finally admitted. Beatrice nodded, but kept silent. "They lost everything, because of me. We got kicked out of the orphanage, because I lost control. They then lost what little they had left chasing my problem!" Beatrice frowned at that as Sly finished his rant.

"What happened at the orphanage was not your fault. That _man_ had been tossing kids out of that home left and right. He just wanted to line his pockets with the extra money!" she snorted.

"If I hadn't attacked him, he would not have had a valid reason to kick us out!" protested the barely 18 year old. Beatrice sighed in frustration. Why, oh why, did Sly insist on punishing himself for things he could not control?

"I know, but if _he_ wasn't messing around with Murray... _you_ wouldn't have attacked _him_," she said scathingly. Sly winced at her tone, but decided to drop the orphanage topic, but Beatrice wasn't finished yet, "And as for this recent disaster, they chose to follow you. They have as much blame as you do, which isn't nearly the amount of blame that this so-called _Neyla _does!"

Sly decided not to argue any further. He instead let his mind wander, while she stroked his hair. For the first time in a very long time, Sly felt safe. The bed was soft and warm, while Beatrice's presence calmed his agitated spirit. Even after that awful flashback, Sly could feel his eyelids starting to close. He yawned softly, before finally surrendering to sleep once more. A mere few moments later, however, Sly was shocked awake by his mind cruelly shoving the image of Bentley's eyeless sockets into the front of his mind's eye. He took a few deep breaths as he tried to slow his heartbeat down. Beatrice was now rubbing his back. He groaned miserably wondering why he couldn't get over this. It had been almost two months since the Clockwerk parts incident, and here he was, still cowering like a child! He had been way more composed during the nightmarish event.

"Why can't I get over this whole Clockwerk parts mess?!" he yowled in frustration.

"Easy, kid. There's no rush," the bat soothed. "You will heal in your own time," she decided not to mention that lots of the abused kids, as well as a few of the adults that she worked with at the shelter she volunteered at constantly, had nightmares about their abusers constantly. She figured at this point, he would just dismiss it.

"Really? What makes you so sure?" he practically whined. Beatrice almost laughed at hearing the normally aloof, Mr. Cool himself, Sly Cooper whining like a little kid. But then it hit her, he was a kid. Sure, he was mature for his age, but he was still just a kid.

"Trust me, you will." she assured him. He huffed, but said nothing else. Beatrice continued her ministrations as she felt Shaun starting to drift off again. She finally began to relax as Shaun's breathing evened out after a few minutes. She made sure that the raccoon was covered up properly, turned on the bedside lamp, and turned out the main light before heading back down the hallway and into her own room. As she walked through the door, a voice drifted out of the darkness.

"Is he asleep?" Bryan asked. Beatrice answered an affirmative as she closed their door behind her. She began to elaborate as she climbed into the bed before snuggling into his embrace once more.

"He had a nightmare," she said as she felt Bryan nod.

"I figured as much, we heard his scream from in here. Did he mention what he was dreaming about?" He asked. Beatrice shook her head.

"No, he wouldn't talk about it. It must've been pretty bad because something else scared him awake a second time before he finally went back to sleep," answered the female bat.

"No wonder he took to running at night, he was trying to outrun the nightmares," muttered Bryan. Beatrice hummed in agreement.

"He was probably also trying to keep his trouble from bothering his friends," She added. Suddenly, she was reminded of how late it was when she yawned loudly. Bryan pulled her close and muttered sleepily,

"Let's try to get some sleep, love. Tomorrow will be another day."

Beatrice didn't say anything as she just laid her head in the crook of Bryan's neck. She knew that they both needed sleep as their new charge was definitely a wily one. Therefore, she would have to be up with the sun in order to make sure that he couldn't give them the slip in the morning...

**The next morning**...

Sly blinked slowly as he started to wake up, taking a moment to reorient himself before slowly sitting up. Once the memories of last night came back to him, he began looking around the spacious room he was in. The room's walls were a soft tan color and had cherry flooring. The walls were not decorated, and it lacked any other furniture aside from a side table near the door, the lamp that rested on the table, and the bed. The bed was a simple twin size with a cherry headboard. The bed was covered with plain white sheets and a simple dark blue comforter. There was a door on the wall across from the bed, which he believed probably led to a closet. Sly looked to his left and blinked at the sunlight that was streaming through the window. Sly leaned forward so that he was looking directly out the window. The house seemed to sit on a rather steep hill. Sly couldn't see any recognizable roads from his window, but what he did see amazed him, as he saw nothing but trees; however, they were far enough apart that sunlight had no trouble shining through them. Sly also noted that the trees seemed to get denser further down the slope and that there was at least six inches of snow covering the ground. He found it strange that the last two observations had not bothered him. It registered to the raccoon that he was, for the most part, trapped alone with two people that he only knew marginally well. While his only chance of help, or escape, was 5 hours away in Paris, on the other side of dense trees and snow. However, none of that information seemed to really phase the teen. He just felt numb. As far as he was concerned, it was an improvement over the tumult of emotions he cycled through yesterday. After a moment, Sly decided to face his fate like man and finally got up.

Unfortunately, his knee was not quite ready to forgive him for that misstep the other day. As soon as he put weight on it, pain shot down his leg. Sly bit back a cry and a curse before sitting back on the bed, massaging his knee. He then slowly lifted his knee and lowered it again as he tried to work the stiffness out of the joint. After about fifteen minutes, Sly stood once more and slowly made his way out of the room. He found himself in a long hallway, with the same color scheme for the walls and floor as in his room. These walls were also bare, but the space was clean. He looked behind himself and saw another door, assuming that it was another bedroom. There were two other doors as well before he continued on down the hall and entered into a rather spacious living area. There was furniture in this room, but there was still plastic covering them. Boxes were still strewn about the room in clusters, Sly figured that they had recently moved in. A set of French double doors led to a porch and a small backyard. Sly looked to his left and saw an opening into another room. Moving towards it, he was surprised to find the kitchen. The kitchen was fairly spacious and the rest of the room's space was devoted to a dining room table and a few chairs. Sitting in one of the chairs was Beatrice Montreal and in another was Bryan Moliere. The two mammals were quietly enjoying their breakfast. Before Sly could leave them to their breakfast, Beatrice spotted him hovering in the doorway.

"Good morning, Sly," greeted the woman, "Why don't you have a seat?" She gestured to the chair beside her. Shaun debated internally a moment before making his way over and sitting down. Sly absent-mindedly glanced at Beatrice's bowl of coffee and plate of tartines. The thin slices of bread were covered with what looked like blackberry preserves. Immediately, his stomach rolled and Sly put his head down on the table. This had recently developed and his stomach had become rather picky as of late. He could barely keep any food down, if he had managed to even get it in his mouth. The thought, or sight, of food would sometimes make Sly so ill that he could not even bring food to his lips. He found that he could stomach whole fruits and some vegetables if they were unseasoned but that was all. He slowly raised his head when he thought he heard someone call his name.

"Yes, madam?" he said by rote. The few hours of sleep he got the night before helped him to recall the manners Madame Barre drilled into him time and time again.

"No need to madam me, Sly. I was asking if you wanted anything. Despite our moving mess, we do have a fully stocked kitchen," replied Beatrice. Sly mulled over the decision. It was considered bad etiquette to refuse the hospitality of a person of whom you were a guest. On the other hand, he doubted that his stomach would take anything.

"Do you have any fruit, by chance?" he asked tentatively as the female bat nodded.

"Yes, we do! Apples or grapes?" she asked as she got up from the table.

"An apple is fine," he replied. The bat opened a single-door stainless steel refrigerator and began rummaging around in it. Sly was watching the bat apathetically, when he was startled by a sound coming from his right. He whirled around in a panic, and immediately felt foolish for it. The rustling of Bryan's newspaper had spooked him. The bat was reading what looked like _Les Échos_, the French daily business newspaper. Sly slipped further into a trance like state as his eyes zeroed in on the red line and subtitles on the front page. They were an intense red, just like the blood that littered the floor of the Contessa's "session rooms" after one of her "therapy" sessions with a stubborn patient. The room grew colder, and the thief could feel the moisture from the damp cell walls as if he was still in one. His body started shivering Whether it was from the cold or dread, he didn't know. Suddenly, Sly's attention was drawn back to Beatrice when she called out to him.

"Red or Green?" She asked. Sly came up short. What was she talking about? Red or green what? The raccoon fought to sort through the sensory information that was bombarding his mind. His past and present had merged for the moment, and he was failing to distinguish one from the other. He began panicking, frantically racking his brain for the correct answer to the bat's question. Because at this point, he was convinced that answering her correctly was a matter of life and death. Just like when the Contessa used to ask him trick questions during their sessions where one wrong answer could cost him everything. In his mind, he was back in his cell with his back against the wall with the Contessa and her men looming over him.

"Come on now, Sly… it's simple. Answer my question. If you get it right, you get a break tonight. However, you get it wrong, and we may have to have an extended session," the Contessa's cold voice taunted. Sly whimpered helplessly. What was the right answer? Suddenly, it all became too much and Sly reverted back to the helpless prisoner he had been almost five months ago. He began repeating a litany he perfected during his imprisonment.

"I – I don't know. I don't know. I don't know…" The raccoon chanted over and over again.

Bryan had started eyeing the teen inconspicuously after the kid nearly toppled the chair he was sitting in over. He guessed that the loudness of his newspaper startled him. The bat then returned most of his attention to the paper when Beatrice asked Sly another question. After a moment of silence, Bryan looked around his paper as Sly was sitting rigidly in his seat. His posture was rim-rod straight and his face was pale. His fingers were twisted in his shirt tail, and he was trembling. Suddenly, his hands abandoned their hiding place in his shirt and instead buried themselves in his hair. Bryan could only watch in horror as Sly seemed to crumble right before his eyes. The kid began swaying in his chair and moaning something unintelligible. Bryan was completely at a lost as to what happened and didn't know what to do. Did he try and wake him up, or would that make things worse? Before he could begin to make a move, Beatrice had moved back to the table. She had a green apple in one hand and was placing the other on Shaun's shoulder. The teen flinched away from her touch, but his lover remained undaunted. She placed her hand on the thief's shoulder once more. The raccoon flinched again, but did not move away. Bryan watched as Beatrice gently took one of the boy's hands and removed it from his hair. She then placed the cold apple into his hand, and let go.

The teen grasped the apple and brought it his face. He seemed to study the apple bewilderedly as if he wasn't sure what it was. Both of the bats continued to watch in wary fascination as Shaun slowly turned the apple over and over in his hands. The raccoon's hair now hung limply around his eyes, obscuring part of his face. He then lifted the apple to his nose and sniffed at it. Finally, Shaun placed the apple against his lips and took a small, hesitant bite. Both bats sighed in relief as Beatrice slowly returned to her own breakfast, while Bryan tried, and failed, to return to his own coffee and paper. Why hadn't she done anything more? How could she be so calm? He looked over at his fiancée, who was currently gnawing on a tartine. His own stomach was still clenched with anxiety, and his heart rate was still a little high. The kid had practically been having a nervous breakdown at the table. Yet, she was acting as if nothing happened. His eyes were then drawn back to Shaun when he had noticed the raccoon take another bite of the apple. Bryan began to relax a little more as he realized that Shaun's posture had relaxed. He was still eating the apple slowly, but it was not with the same robotic movements as he did so a few minutes ago. Bryan was beginning to wonder if they had gotten in over their heads on this one...

* * *

**Done and done! So, what did everyone think? Unfortunately, things will get worse before they get better. So hang onto your hats folks, because it's going to be a bumpy ride. Please review!**


	3. S1 Episode 2: Things Fall Apart

Glad you guys are enjoying my fic! Thank to all my reviewers including the ones for this story and my other Sly fics! Also, I know this story is a bit on the slow side... I need to establish everyone's roles and characters at this point in time. After all, these characters are central to the rest of the story as it unfolds. Hopefully, this will finally pick up some steam after chapter 4. **Also, don't forget the contest that is going on with this story. If you don't know what I am talking about please see Chapter 2. I will be posting the answers at the end of every month for all the chapters posted in that month.**

_So I know some people may have questions at the end of this chapter about some of the characterizations. At this point in my story, the gang is a lot younger and so they are still learning to work through group conflict. As I've said before, I wasn't a fan of the character development in the games, or lack thereof, in some places. Therefore, I am starting at a rather low point so that there'll be plenty of time for character growth throughout the story for everyone, not just Sly._

**Your hints for this chapter: There is **_**1**_** Easter Egg in this chapter. It also deals with numbers. This one is chronologically important.**

**Disclaimer: ****Sly Cooper and other related characters are ****formerly the property of Sucker Punch, inc. and currently the property of Sanzaru, Inc.**** except for Beatrice Montreal, Bryan Moliere, Desiree Mallery, Desiree Monroe, Nautica Macavity, Aubrey Lancaster, Ann Monret, Armand Jaeger, Phillip Dumont, and Claire Bennet which all belong to me. ****Carmen Fox, Carlos Diego Fox, Kitty Petro, and Ling Chu belong to Kitty Petro****.**

_**Season 1: "When Strangers Meet"**_

_**Arc 1: "Shattered Past, Broken Present"**_

**Episode 2:**

**Things Fall Apart**

**Later on that morning...**

Beatrice Montreal was doing well for a 24-year-old orphan that had never been adopted. A lot of the people she grew up with were either dead, on drugs, drowning in a bottle, or in jail. She, however, had a fairly decent job as a buyer for a small bookstore chain in France, and she recently got a beautiful home. Most importantly, she was getting married to a wonderful man. That same wonderful man was beside her as both bats continued quietly finishing unpacking their belongings. She was currently unpacking a box of decorations and picture frames. Picking up another newsprint bound object that was in the box, she proceeded in opening it as a small smile graced her features. She uncovered a picture of her and Bryan at the ballet that they went to while celebrating their third anniversary. She had been wearing a sapphire dress with matching plastic earrings; her feet had been wrapped in a pair of beautiful clear shoes. Bryan had been dressed in a crisp black suit with a sapphire tie and pocket handkerchief. The ballet had been beautiful, and the dinner afterwards had been divine. She turned to the brunette beside her and held up the picture with a flourish.

"Why, look at this handsome devil!" she teased. Bryan looked up and grinned as he saw the picture she was holding.

"What handsome devil? All I see is the gorgeous blue clad angel." he exclaimed in surprise, enjoying her teasing. Beatrice blushed and admonished him playfully to which, Bryan indulgently pouted like a child denied a sweet. After a few moments, they both started laughing Before Beatrice laid the picture down on the table next to her. She turned back to Bryan and noticed that he was staring in the direction of the backyard.

"Thinking about Shaun still?" she inquired softly. The raccoon was sitting outside with his back against the left door. She had allowed him to retreat after his episode, but not before making him promise that he would not leave the yard since there was a steep drop-off a few meters out. He nonchalantly agreed to her request, much to her surprise, and remained sitting outside for the past hour and a half. After a moment, she returned her gaze to her fiancé when he sighed.

"I am beginning to think that we're in over our heads here," admitted Bryan. Beatrice abandoned the box that she had been cleaning out, in order to address her fiancé.

"Well, I did warn you that this wasn't going to be easy," said Beatrice. She knew that Bryan was a smart, and brave, man, it just took him a little while to adjust to new things. He also had a tendency to underestimate. Therefore, this morning's episode in the kitchen probably shook him up. While she had grown somewhat used to the ups and downs that came with dealing with people suffering from depression or PTSD, he had never even seen an episode of true melancholy before. Especially an extreme episode like the one Shaun had had at the table. Although she hadn't shown it, she had been terrified... not of Shaun, but for him. That outburst alone confirmed her to believe that she was right; that Shaun had a much larger problem than just nightmares going on.

"I know that, but I wasn't expecting him to just fall apart over nothing," muttered Bryan as he continued to watch the teen.

"Oh, I am quite sure that it wasn't just 'over nothing'," explained Beatrice, "he was probably suffering a flashback. This is confirming what I already feared."

"Which is what?" Bryan asked, as he turned to face her once more.

"Ann mentioned that she thought there was more going on than _just_ the fight with Clockwerk. When she ran into the gang back in Paris, she saw scars on Sly and Murray that weren't there before they left. Of course, we already knew some of what really happened, thanks to communications with Bentley during the event. Nevertheless, her hunch was right. Now I'm afraid that Shaun has developed severe mental issues," She explained. Beatrice became silent as she continued to recall the conversation she had had with her former orphanage mate. Ann had called her practically in hysterics; the woman had been contacted by Sly a few days back in order to solicit her help for a heist.

According to Sly, Murray had been acting out of sorts since their defeat of Clockwerk. Therefore, he had needed her help to free Bentley from the hospital before the turtle was taken to prison. Ann refused to help with anything until Sly told her the truth about what was going on. He explained what had happened with the Clockwerk parts and that in the end; they still had to fight the bird. Ann agreed to help them then, but she felt as if something had been left out. Especially, after she met up with Sly at the rendezvous point. He had clearly been in pain, and she could've sworn that she saw scars on his wrists. Then after seeing the pale and listless Murray at the hideout, she became heavily concerned.

However, she refused to pry anymore, scared that she may push them away, but she finally caved when she hadn't heard from them again and called Beatrice to check up on them, knowing that she was a lot more stubborn. Beatrice convinced Murray to spill some more of the details that Shaun conveniently left out during a brief phone conversation. He spoke vaguely of the Contessa's cruelty, and a few of the other missteps he and the gang had made during their parts run.

"Speaking of scars...did you seen any last night?" Bryan asked as Beatrice shrugged.

"No, Shaun just slept in his clothes. He just crawled under the covers and went to sleep." She elaborated as Bryan shook his head.

"I cannot begin to imagine what he and Murray went through though," said the man before rubbing his face wearily.

"But, it must've been truly awful in order for Sly to develop PTSD," sighed Beatrice. Bryan looked sharply at the blonde beside him.

"PTSD? Don't you think you're exaggerating just a little bit?" the male bat asked skeptically. Beatrice wasn't thrown off by his skepticism; many people underestimated what post traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD, looked like. Only people who had experienced it, or worked with people who had it, knew what to look for. Now that she had a moment to look back over his behavior, Shaun was exhibiting the classic signs. One moment he'd be restless and agitated, and then the next he would be despondent, like he was now. He also had nightmares, as evidenced last night. He had also only eaten about half of the apple she'd given him, so more likely than not, his appetite had been off as well. Finally, in addition to those symptoms, he was having flashbacks.

"No, I don't believe that I am. Bryan, you know where I volunteer at, and you know I have probably seen it far too many times for my liking. I would not exaggerate about something like this," She insisted. Bryan held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. He knew that his wife had seen some pretty troubled people at the Women's Shelter she volunteered with, especially since they took in mostly abused children and women.

"Maybe it's not so bad. After all, he seemed fine after he faced Clockwerk the first time," Bryan pointed out. Beatrice shook her head.

"Or that is what he wanted people to think. Sly is notorious for going until he collapses! And he probably didn't want to alarm Bentley and Murray, either. After all, they were hurt, too. I think he is trying to make amends to them by bearing his own pain in silence, while continuing to care for the others... How about this? Why don't you go see Bentley and Murray? See what they say. If they say that Sly has been fine... I mean no deviation from his normal behavior at all aside from what we have already seen; I will drop the matter entirely. However, if they say he has been out of sorts, I will go see Phillip while I am at the abuse home. Deal?" Beatrice proposed.

"Ok, but I still say you are overreacting," Bryan agreed as he continued to empty the box in front of him.

**2 days later…**

Bryan and Beatrice finally unpacked most of their belongings. Bryan had decided to go ahead and fulfill his end of the bargain he made with Beatrice and meet with Murray. and Bentley After all, he had a consultation appointment with a Parisian bakery that was looking to expand soon. The accounting firm that he worked with had just landed this consultation contract, so he needed to be early anyways. Therefore, he could easily go to Paris a day early and see the guys. Then he could check into a hotel and travel to his appointment the next day. Although, if he was honest with himself, he would admit that he wasn't up to watching his fiancée try to coax the reluctant raccoon out of the guest bedroom once more. He didn't think he could stomach watching Sly have another breakdown, either. He often wondered how she could stand working at the shelter sometimes. Especially, if she saw episodes like that every day she went in. The feeling of utter helplessness he experienced at the kitchen table had been one of the most awful feelings the bat ever experienced. Even now as he was getting onto the A6 to start the long trek back to Paris, his heart clenched at the thought of the incident. He sighed to himself, especially since he hated using this toll road. It was expensive. If it weren't for the fact that he needed to get to Paris quickly, he would have taken the long way around. As he drove along the toll way, he smirked to himself as he thought back to his future wife's ploy earlier. She knew he had a tendency to understate everything, but she also knew that he was competitive and with this deal of hers, she exploited both. His competitive side would have to take the challenge in order to prove her wrong, and by wording the challenge the way she did, she made it so that he would not be able to downplay any information that the two thieves would give him. And besides, Bryan was looking forward to seeing the two men again.

Bentley, Murray, and Sly had always been an odd group. Even with other hippos, raccoons and turtles living at the orphanage, the three still chose to spend time with each other. Bentley was the youngest of the trio and Murray was the oldest, although one couldn't tell it by his behavior. Murray, despite his size, boisterous attitude and booming voice, was the most genial and innocent of the three. He had been the first one to approach Beatrice and Bryan. Sly eventually warmed up to them as well, with Bentley following behind a short time later. Bentley, however, was rather closed off. The turtle wasn't standoffish, but he did not interact with anyone that he didn't have to. His reserved nature made him an easy target for bullies. Sly and Murray often spent a great deal of time defending the turtle from would-be attackers. The turtle had found comfort in building things, books, and eventually computers and while all these hobbies were okay, they also gave the turtle something to hide behind.

Murray's size was not only a blessing, but also a curse. Because of his height, Murray often towered over many of the children at the orphanage, automatically made a lot of the smaller children wary of him. Some of the smaller bullies often made Murray a target as well since they could often claim that Murray had been harassing them and the matrons would believe them. The matrons often assumed that Murray was intimidating them because he was bigger, but in the end, both kids grew up okay. Murray was always the life of the party; easily amused and always looking for a good time. Bentley eventually emerged from his shell and was found to have a very dry wit and keen intellect, which made for a very intelligent and lively conversation; not to mention really cool gadgets. And then there was Sly…

Sly was simply the odd one out. The children often whispered tales about where Sly came from. The night he'd come to the orphanage, the raccoon had been making the most unholy of noises when the police brought him in. The police had been rumored to say that the boy had been fighting them the whole way there. Some of the older children that saw the commotion began spreading rumors about the raccoon, some of them being harmless, some others though…it was these rumors that caused other kids to stay away from the young raccoon. One of these rumors was that a devil had possessed Sly; however, his friends soon learned the truth. The only thing that possessed Sly was terror. The house had caught fire not long after his father's murder, which Sly had witnessed firsthand. No one ever knew just how the child escaped the flames, but by the time authorities found him, the kid had been in hysterics. Bryan also suspected that the police had not been very kind to the child, either but by the time that anyone got the full story, the damage was irreversible.

The rumors had come to define Sly. Most children avoided him like the plague, and his distrustful and quiet nature didn't help. Bryan, at the time, being the unassuming fellow that he was, didn't believe the rumors. However, he had plenty of reasons to be wary of the raccoon. Incidentally, a lot of the rumors remained because of Sly's outbursts. Strange things would happen around the boy when he became extremely agitated or angry. Brian recalled one such incident where Sly shattered all the light bulbs in a hallway in a fit of anger. Eventually, Sly would warm up to his roommates; Bentley and Murray. Through them, he would come to be somewhat friends with Ann, Beatrice, and Bryan and as the young man opened up, his friends found him to be witty, intelligent, loyal, and talented. As Bryan came out of his walk down memory lane, he realized that only an hour passed by and still had another three or so hours left of driving. He sighed once more before reaching down and turning on the radio, settling in for the long ride ahead of him.

Bryan could only smile in relief when he finally made it into Paris proper. In about fifteen minutes, he would be at the gang's current safe house. They had a few scattered throughout all of Paris, France in general and a couple other countries worldwide. When the gang's income became superfluous, despite giving to charity and returning goods to owners, the gang began looking for other ways to get rid of their illegal goods. Sly would eventually come to Bryan for financial advice since he had always been a whiz with numbers. At the time, Bryan suggested that the gang pawn what they could and put the money into useful assets and money generating expenditures. Therefore, the gang put money into safe houses, gadgets and vehicles as well as stocks, mutual funds, and bonds as well.

The safe house that he was going to was one of such asset purchases. He mentally pulled himself back into reality as he began to look for the turn onto the dirt road that would lead to the hideout. Thirty minutes later, he was pulling up to the cabin in the middle of a satellite field. Due to the location, the house wasn't well received on the market, and as such, Shaun was able to get a good deal on the place. He parked his car into a patch of trees near the edge of the property and started making his way to the cabin door. Climbing the steps, he knocked on the door and waited. A few seconds later, a camera popped out of the overhanging of the roof, focused on him, and then beeped before disappearing into its compartment again before the door opened, revealing a grinning Murray.

"Hey Bryan! Come on in," he said as he stepped aside to allow the bat inside. Bryan blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer lighting of the cabin. The cabin was mainly a three room affair with a large living area with sections set aside for the usual household rooms as well as a bedroom and bathroom. The large room had a space for Bentley's workspace, a small kitchen, a living room of sorts with a couch and TV, and a table with some chairs for eating. Bentley was sitting at a desk in the corner furthest from the door. This wasn't unusual; however, the wheelchair the turtle was sitting in seemed obscenely out of place. It painfully drove home the fact that the boys had a rough go of it. Reality often had a well-meaning, yet brutal, habit of shoving hard truths into people's faces. This was one of those moments. Bryan quickly realized that his usual skepticism would not cut it this time. Coupling with what he saw with Sly earlier in the week, and what he was seeing now, enabled Bryan to see that this was going to take some serious work on everybody's part to fix. At the present moment, Murray was shuffling about the cabin, making idle small talk as he offered Bryan a seat on the couch. Bryan noticed that there were a few pale scars on the hippo's forearms and also noticed the unusual tenseness in the air, as if one wrong move or word would cause the room to explode instead of the usual easy-going type of silence that sometimes pervaded through the cabin.

"Hello Bentley," said the bat affably as he took a seat.

"Hi," the turtle said in a deadpan voice, surprising Bryan, especially since Bentley was being unusually curt, meaning just one thing: he wouldn't be getting much out of the turtle. He sighed internally before turning to the only other person in the room. Murray was leaning against the wall while looking around warily, as if he were expecting an enemy to appear out of thin air. Bryan made a mental note of his friend's distressed manner before speaking.

"So, how have you been Murray?" asked Bryan.

The hippo gave a weak smile before replying, "I've been fine." Bryan didn't believe the statement, but didn't press. "How have you been?"

"I'm doing great. Beatrice and I are getting married next March… Well not next March next March but the March after that," explained Bryan before he laughed at his own bad wording. Murray chuckled a moment as well before offering his congratulations. However, the conversation between the two was quickly ruined when Bentley cut in.

"Will you two take your chatter elsewhere? I'm trying to get some work done!" He hissed testily. Bryan frowned; Bentley was definitely acting out of character…and here he thought that Sly was the one with a temper. He just looked at the hippo and shrugged. Murray motioned for the bat to follow him before heading towards the bedroom. The bat closed the door behind him after he entered the room.

"What is going on with Bentley?" asked Bryan as soon as the door clicked shut. Murray just flopped down on the king-size bed and sighed.

"I really don't know. I think he is just confused," said Murray.

"Confused?" Bryan parroted as Murray nodded.

"Yeah, Bentley's been real moody lately. I think, no, I know that he is upset about being in a wheelchair and his legs still hurt. I believe he blames Sly for that, so he's been fighting with him a lot. At the same time though, he wants Sly around. I'm not really a shrink or anything, so I can't say for sure. Besides, I really don't want to think about shrinks at the moment," Murray admitted. Bryan wandered over to the twin-sized bed, which he assumed was Bentley's, and sat down. His face became marred by frowns as he turned over what the hippo said in his head. It made sense.

After all, Clockwerk had originally been Sly's problem. All of them pledged to help the raccoon to defeat his enemy, and they had. However, when the parts resurfaced, it was as if all their hard work would be quickly undone if they fell into the wrong hands and the gang fiercely debated about whether or not to go after them. Shaun was adamant that they had to be destroyed completely, and eventually, he convinced the others that this was the correct course of action. Therefore, some of the blame for the following misfortunes could easily be laid at the feet of the master thief. Bentley's anger was somewhat understandable, although a little unfair. On the flip side; however, Shaun was Bentley's friend, and confidant, for almost as long as Bentley could remember. It was only natural that he would want the comfort of his friend while he was hurting. Because of the conflicting emotions, Bentley was left confused and moody.

"Yeah, that seems to make sense. I will try talking to him before I leave," Bryan said. The hippo nodded noncommittally. "So, how are you taking all this fighting?" The bat asked.

"I don't like it, if that's what you mean. Who likes to see their best friends fighting? Especially, since it seems to hurt them both a lot. I mean, the last night that Sly was here; Bentley went on a really angry and mean rant about Sly, and I think Sly heard it," Murray said softly. At this point, the hippo swallowed before continuing with a heavy sigh, "I think that's why he left." Murray sighed in frustration.

"What else is on your mind, big guy?" probed Bryan as the hippo then looked at the bat with a heartbreakingly forlorn expression.

"It's just not fair! Bentley is making everybody miserable, and the sad thing is no one wants to call him out on it. We all hold, well me and Sly, some responsibility for Bentley's new handicapped status, but, that doesn't give Bentley the right to be unbearable. We feel bad enough of as it is and now, I feel backed into a corner…" The 19-year-old broke off mid-sentence with a sigh. Bryan waited in silence as Murray gathered his thoughts, "because, Bentley gets upset if I go to check up on Sly after one of their spats. He insists that I am choosing Sly over him, which isn't true at all. I care about both of them equally, but I usually go after Sly because he is less likely to snap at me than Bentley. Bentley just yells at me...plus, it was just a nice thing to do, especially since Sly does so much for us. He cooks, cleans, and constantly checks on us to see if we need anything. The only time he wasn't doing something was that time last week when he was sick. He had been couch bound for a day or two because of it," He further explained, his eyes pleading with Bryan to understand his point of view.

Bryan sighed explosively; he definitely got more than he bargained for by coming here. He had initially come to check on Sly's behavior around his friends and instead discovered that things were falling apart within the gang. The others were struggling as well it seemed. Bentley's bitterness over the wheelchair was causing strife with Sly and Murray. Yet, Sly's guilt kept him from truly confronting the matter and putting it behind them while poor Murray was hurting but unfortunately caught in the middle. Bryan shook his head at it all.

"Well aside from the fighting, has anything else unusual been going on with you, Sly, or Bentley?" Asked Bryan. Murray looked back at the slightly chipped ceiling as he thought.

"Sleep has been little hard to come by for everybody, I think. I know I've heard Sly call out or talk in his sleep a lot lately. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, and he will be wide awake. I've also been woken up by Bentley dreaming of crashing a lot. He often cries out about falling in his sleep. Sometimes I can't sleep either." admitted Murray.

"Well have any of you been eating regularly?" the bat inquired.

"Yeah, I do eat for the most part…but only if Sly cooks…sometimes I'm just not hungry. Speaking of eating, I hardly ever see Sly eat now. Bentley manages to eat more than he does," muttered Murray. The bat nodded as he decided to ask one more question as he could see that Murray was growing tired.

"All right big guy, I have one last question for you, and then I'll let you be. Has there been any other strange behavior besides Bentley's rare mood and Sly's insomnia?" He asked.

"Yeah, sometimes Sly would just curl up in a corner and not say a word. He would whine or moan if anybody got close to him. I just learned to let him be since he usually came around after awhile," answered Murray.

"Okay Murray, thanks for talking with me. I just wanted to see how you guys were," said the bat as he stood to leave. As Bryan prepared to walk out the door; however, Murray's voice stopped him.

"Is Shaun coming back?" the hippo asked. Bryan looked back and decided to give Murray an honest answer,

"I hope so."

**The next day back in Lyon…**

Beatrice sighed as she put the phone back on the receiver and began making her way back to the guest bedroom. She had just ended a conversation with Bryan, who was currently on his way to his

consultation appointment in Paris. It seemed as if things were going badly for the Cooper Gang, according to her fiancé, and it wasn't just Shaun who was suffering. Now, Sly's nightly ritual made sense. He was trying to outrun the pain being caused by Bentley, as well as his own internal pain. She now wondered just what Bentley could have said that would hurt Shaun so badly. She had been trying to get the young man to talk for the past couple of days to no avail, thankful that she was able to get him inside the house with little trouble a few days ago. It had remained below freezing for the last couple of days. The thief spent a majority of the time in the guest bedroom asleep. Beatrice had been trying to get Shaun to eat at regular intervals, but he steadily refused. It was obvious that the teen was depressed, but sleeping the rest of his life away would not help anyone, especially him. She sighed as she stood outside of the guest bedroom, sighing lightly before knocking on the door. Usually he wouldn't answer, but this time, she had a plan.

As per the norm now, she got no response. She did not leave; however, she removed a pin from her golden locks and proceeded to pick the lock. After a few moments, the lock clicked into the unlock position and she pushed the door open. The lights were off, but the sun provided plenty of natural light as she saw Sly sitting cross-legged on the bed looking out the window. The teen had the dark blue comforter wrapped around his shoulders, having no idea how long he was like that. Adjusting the tote bag she had on her shoulder, she stepped into the room.

"Shaun, you really need to eat. Aren't you tired of sitting in the same place?" she asked as she moved further into the room. Shaun did not even twitch as the raccoon just continued staring out the window. She sighed. Seeing the usually collected, yet energetic, thief so out of sorts was disconcerting. Compared to the emotional wreck that he was a few days ago, he had done a complete 180. It was as if all the life had left the raccoon. Beatrice was particularly worried because when people usually reached this stage; they usually started contemplating self harm and/or suicide sooner or later, having seen it many times at the shelter.

At first, they take comfort in the numbness. The lack of the emotional whirlwind that dominated most of their mental energy and behavior was soothing. Eventually, after days, weeks, and months of feeling nothing, they began actively searching for stimulation. Some of the teens she worked with described it as searching for something to make them feel real, or alive, again. Anything was better than the constant isolation and numbness, self-induced or no. Self harm helped alleviating the feeling of numbness that settled over them, the pain a sharp reminder that they still lived, felt, and breathed, but eventually it led to a cycle of guilt, self-hate, need, and depression. Guilt from harming themselves turned into self-hate because only horrible people hurt themselves; at least that's what they're told. Sadly, self-hate and loathing aren't enough to completely eclipse the need for stimulation when it calls. Once the need is sated, the cycle starts all over again until depression sets in when they realize they can't break the cycle. After a while of this, they finally turn to suicide out of desperation.

She did not want to watch Shaun teeter on the edge of that precipice, so she was just going to have to be a nuisance at this point to make sure it didn't get that far. However, this was a delicate dance she was about to perform. Dancing with damaged souls was one of the most terrifying, sometimes disturbing, but ultimately rewarding experiences she ever had in her life. Each move had to be choreographed in such a way that both partners were completely exposed, yet neither was left completely, and utterly, vulnerable to the dangers of the dance. It was also one of the most unorthodox and asymmetrical dances in life. Sure all dances may become off kilter at times, but the dance between friends was usually light, energetic and individualistic, but usually harmonic; unless someone took a misstep. The infamous dance between lovers certainly changed often: passionate and sensual at one point, sometimes soft and sweet, harsh and angry at others. Even at the dances' most uneven beats and measures, both dancers were willing participants, and both, for the most part, were completing the same dance.

However, when dancing with damaged souls, there are essentially two independently dancing partners: one partner meant to lead, and another to follow until they can lead their own dance; that is if the partner doesn't refuse to dance all. Nothing in this dance ever seems graceful, choreographed, or harmonic. In fact, it's usually clumsy, disorganized, traumatic, yet very genuine. It was like watching a car stuck on a train track, you never knew if the person inside the car would make it out of the car before the train hit or not, but in the end, you know it's real and grotesque but something you can't look away from. This dance is just as ugly to look at in the beginning, but you stare in fascination anyways. You watch each dancer struggle to complete each step as they struggle against and with each other. However, no matter how draining or horrid looking the dance may be, it must be done to avoid that life-ending cliff.

Beatrice thought over what she knew about Shaun and decided to start there. Shaun, well Sly, was usually a get-to-the-point kind of guy. He also tended to have martyr tendencies when it came to his well being, especially if or when he felt there was something more important that needed doing, or someone else that needed his attention, but Shaun's major flaw was his temper. If one pushed Shaun hard enough, his temper would snap. One just had to be patient and persistent enough to reach that point. The most important thing was to get him talking so as to break this wall of silence he surrounded himself with. He was going to end up retreating further and further into himself, if she allowed him to continue to wallow in silence. She walked further into the room, closing the door behind her. She hesitated a moment, but took a deep breath and dove in feet first. It was now or never.

"Shaun – – Sly, I know you are struggling right now, but this self-imposed solitude isn't going to help you," said Beatrice, hoping that Sly would be more willing to open up if she kept her conversation succinct and direct. She figured that given his usual direct approach to life, he might feel more comfortable answering direct questions or challenges at first, which didn't require as much 'soul-searching' or energy as answering more probing statements and questions would. She would slowly increase the intensity of questioning until he shut off, then she would leave him alone for a while before starting again.

"Ist das so?" (Is that so?) muttered the raccoon, his tone flat. German, great. Sly tended to use the German language to put an end to conversations that he did not want to continue. Thankfully though, the phrase he used was close enough to an English equivalent for her to recognize it. Beatrice chose her next words carefully, as her response could end this conversation before it even started.

"Yes," She stated matter-of-factly. He snorted, but didn't say anything else. She bit back the urge to groan before deciding to make herself more comfortable. If he wanted to play stubborn, then two could play that game. She walked over to the bed and sat down next to it. She leaned against it and drew her knees up to her chest. She sat the bag beside her and began rummaging through it before extracting a small snack bag of grapes and a book. She put these items beside her before reaching into the bag and pulling out another green apple, placing it on the bed before picking up the book and started to read, opening it to where her bookmark laid. It was another book recommended highly for sale in France, and the female bat was considering it for her company to market and sale this coming year. If the raccoon wanted to talk, he would do so in his own time.

Sly heard Beatrice move across the floor and then he felt the bed shift slightly. He sighed, her stubbornness had kicked in, and she was not leaving for a while. He continued to stare out the window. As the snow glistened underneath the soft light of the sun, Sly continued to contemplate on his current situation, despite Beatrice's interruption, although, her words were now bouncing around in his head. As much as he would like to say that it helped, she was correct. It had not helped at all; in fact, it made the situation much worse. The first day that he slept most of the day away, waking up somewhere around 10 o'clock after a nightmare. He had managed to slip out of the room and grab an apple from the kitchen. He nibbled on it for the rest of the night.

The next couple of days he drifted in and out of hellish flashbacks and nerve-racking nightmares. As much as he hated admitting it, Sly knew he was getting worse. He was starting to lose sight of what was real and what wasn't, spending more time trapped in his own head than in reality. Then again, reality was just as bad as his nightmares, if not worse. In reality, his friends hated him. He grimaced as he felt his heart clench painfully in his chest at that thought. He couldn't blame them though, especially when he hated himself at the moment. Well, he had. Honestly, Sly hadn't felt much of anything lately. The numbness that he found relief in a few days ago had now taken over his mind. He was exhausted, and he had no will or energy to fight through the haze. The exhaustion could easily be blamed on the nightmares. He stopped trying to fight them since there wasn't any reason to. They came whether he wanted them or not. He continued staring out the window, noticing how beautiful the sunset looked.

The sun's rays had turned a warm gold as it began its daily descent. They fractured and bounced around trees and off of icicles becoming small shining beams that seemed to make everything they touched glow with an ethereal light. Even the frozen snow looked like sun-kissed crystals upon the ground. A sight like this would have taken his breath away a few months ago, but thanks to the harsh realities of his present, and past, failures, he was too busy being numb or fighting with Bentley. It wasn't the usual "will you stop being so nonchalant about everything, Sly" or "why are you a thief? You should have been a poet..." mock fights they usually had. These fights were loud, vicious, and painful. He knew that the turtle had an extensive vocabulary, although he never imagined that the turtle would use it against him. He unconsciously traced the scar on the inside of his left forearm as he thought about that last encounter with his friends. The numbers remained etched there since the day they were carved into his flesh by the Contessa herself. 1...4...0...9...2...0...0...4. His prison number. It marked him, just like the last time he heard Bentley's voice had been branded into his brain.

_Sly had returned from getting some food for the hideout. He had walked into the cabin and was surprised to discover that neither of his teammates were present. He quickly deduced that they were in the lone bedroom, from the sound of their voices. He simply walked into the kitchen and started putting food away. After a few minutes, their voices got louder. Well, Bentley's voice got louder and he sounded upset. Sly left his task in the kitchen and went to check on his friend. As he neared the bedroom, the turtle's strained words became clearer._

_"… I don't care! He has ruined my life!" The turtle yelled. Initially, the thief had been confused. His confusion was quickly cleared up when Bentley continued speaking, "then he has the gall to complain whenever I give him advice! Sly has caused more trouble for us than he's fixed!" Sly winced from the words, as well as the sheer venom behind them. At the moment, he was trying to decipher what he could have possibly done to piss Bentley off now. The turtle had been suffering from a hair pin trigger temper lately. Although given the current situation, neither of his teammates could completely blame the turtle. Sly's ruminations were halted when Murray's voice was heard next,_

_"Hey, ease up, Bent! He did not mean anything by the change in plans earlier and was actually doing it to help you, since you were still in a lot of pain. There was no reason why we had to move today! The rotation schedule would not have been completely thrown off if we waited a day so you could rest," he insisted. Ah, so that was it. He was still upset about not sticking to the rotation schedule. Bentley decided a while back that they should rotate safe houses every few weeks to keep their trails as difficult to follow as possible. The other day, Sly had decided that it would be too much stress on Bentley to move at the time. The turtle had been having a rough go of it for the last few days since he was in extreme pain and his iron levels weren't where they were supposed to be. Food and medicine were a little on the scarce side since Sly had fallen ill for a few days with a respiratory infection of some sort. Sly usually did the grocery shopping because Murray had been really jumpy lately and was worried that the big guy would draw attention to himself. However, Murray had managed to make one quick trip without too much incident. _

_"Well, I would not need to rest if it hadn't been for him and his stupid owl OBSESSION! I can't walk! I never will again, and it's HIS ENTIRE __**FAULT**__!" The turtle screeched with fury._

_"I agree. This Clockwerk thing caused problems for everybody; but you can't blame everyt-" Murray tried once again to explain, but was once more cut off._

_"Had he just scrubbed the whole damn thing from the beginning like I wanted, this nightmare would never exist! I mean, we literally hand-delivered the parts to Arpeggio with the backwoods bumpkin, Jean Bison, as our broker!" argued Bentley. Sly winced; he could not fault Bentley's somewhat crass description of that nightmarish mission. Now that the raccoon thought about it; the turtle was right. They had essentially did all of Arpeggio's, and by extension, Neyla's work for them. Jean Bison was just able to temporary benefit from their momentary, but costly, mistake. Dimitri's club couldn't be searched without a warrant. Neyla couldn't risk her cop cover to grab the feathers...Rajan's party basically had the same issue, plus some logistical issues. No one knew where his spice temple was until the gang tracked it down...after all, Neyla, nor anyone else, had shown up until after the gang got there! The Contessa guarded the eyes jealously after her exposure to the gang, courtesy of Neyla, but she may have been willing to give them up if she had not been forced into needing them to evade persecution. Finally, Jean Bison cou-Murray's voice cut off his mental dialogue._

_"W-w-well, they may have still put Clockwerk__back together anyway." Sly heard Bentley snort derisively,_

_"Let's see, Neyla would not have been able to get her hands on Dimitri's part without a warrant or risking her cover. Rajan's Wings were in the middle of a ball/police stake out and then the heart was located in a hidden temple not found on any map. He could have hid out there for years, if we hadn't busted him. The Contessa could have been persuaded to loan the eyes, or at least sell the eyes to Arpeggio. Finally, Jean Bison could have been persuaded to hand over his parts with enough money or replacement parts, but the last two situations are just rough conjectures. Both Jean Bison and the Contessa could have chosen to keep all, or part, of their parts. Meaning that nearly half of the bird's important parts would have been lost to Arpeggio and Neyla! And lastly if they did, who's to say we wouldn't be better prepared or that there would be a less likely chance of me losing my legs?!" he grumbled._

_"I guess that's true but-" Murray said, before being cut off once more._

_"I don't care what you say Murray! As far as I am concerned, Sly Cooper can die for all I care! Hell, he might even be doing us a favor! Once Interpol has the body of its favorite fugitive thief, they might be nice enough to leave us be for a while!" yelled the turtle. Sly felt like he had taken a knife to the heart, Bentley wanted him dead... His own friends wanted nothing to do with him, after everything they went through together. Sly's head swam with conflicting emotions as guilt, pain, bitterness, and anger all battled for dominance in his head and heart. The distraught thief thought nothing of the weather outside as he raced for the door of the cabin, taking his cane from its resting place by the door on his way out..._

Sly was brought out of his musings, by a sharp scratching sound. He looked up sharply to see a fairly large eagle owl perched on the sill of the window. Its deep yellow eyes seemed to glow against its frost and silver plumage, with ebony feathers adorning its chest sporadically, shining like jewels in a royal's cape. It hooted at him in a low hollow tone, as if it were voicing the raccoon's very own internal grief to the world in Sly's stead. The regal avian continued to stare Sly down as if it was warning him, daring him to make a move. It was then that Sly recalled something from a school history class. It had been a widely held belief in the medieval days that owls were omens of misfortune and death, especially a nocturnal owl that was seen during the day. If they stared at a person, it was certain that death was coming to visit that same unfortunate soul.

While Sly wasn't an overly superstitious person, there were just some things and beliefs that he could not ignore. He had seen a lamia, ghosts, zombies... anything was possible. The owl myth sent a jarring shiver down his spine and rightfully so, since most of his family, save himself, had been wiped out by Clockwerk. Sly couldn't help but think morosely, 'Well, Bentley may get his wish, because it looks like Death will be calling in his due...'

* * *

**Alright we are done! I can't believe it, three down and quite a few more to go! What did you think of this chapter? Be sure to let me know!**


	4. S1 Episode 3: Broken Pieces and Hearts

Glad you guys are enjoying my fic! Thank to all my reviewers, including the ones for this story and my other Sly fics! So, this chapter gives us a small look at a new, but necessary, character and the end should bring back another well known character, but she will not be wearing a skirt!

**Your hints for this chapter: There is **_**1**_** Easter Egg in this chapter. It is a movie reference. **

**Disclaimer: ****Sly Cooper and other related characters are ****formerly the property of Sucker Punch, inc. and currently the property of Sanzaru, Inc.**** except for Beatrice Montreal, Bryan Moliere, Desiree Mallery, Desiree Monroe, Nautica Macavity, Aubrey Lancaster, Ann Monret, Armand Jaeger, Phillip Dumont, and Claire Bennet which all belong to me. ****Carmen Fox, Carlos Diego Fox, Kitty Petro, and Ling Chu belong to Kitty Petro****.**

_**Season 1: "When Strangers Meet"**_

_**Arc 1: "Shattered Past, Broken Present"**_

**Episode 3: **

**Broken Pieces and Broken Hearts**

**The next afternoon, shortly after 12pm...**

Beatrice was itching to leave; she had taken a great risk leaving Shaun by himself this morning. Shaun was asleep when she left, but that was almost five hours ago. Beatrice had spent three hours in Shaun's room yesterday, but only got a few additional words from the teen before he drifted off into a fitful sleep. A little while later, the need for food saw the bat heading for the kitchen. She decided to give up for the day, resolving to try and speak with him again the next day after she finished her shift. As she was about to leave after packing up her personal belongings, she saw ebony fur out of the corner of her eye. She turned around slowly and grinned as Dr. Phillip " Phil" Dumont passed by.

"Hold on a moment, Phil! Wait!" called the bat. The timber wolf stopped and turned around before waving in acknowledgment. The bat grabbed her things and quickly caught up with the wolf.

"How are you, Ms. Montréal?" He asked as they continued towards the Center's exit. She grinned.

"I am as well as a soon-to-be-married woman can be. Heading to lunch?" She replied.

"That's good! We are so excited for you and Bryan. And yes, you?" He said lightly as he held the door open. "Thank you for the invitation, by the way."

"You're welcome. Who knows, maybe I'll be attending your wedding one day! But no, I am headed home," She admitted. The lupine blushed slightly and smiled.

"Maybe, but did you want to speak to me specifically about something?" He asked as the two walked to the bus stop.

"Actually, yes, I did. I have a friend who is in need of help," She said as her jubilant mood dissipated. Phil's eyebrows rose as he noticed the sudden mood switch with his walking partner.

"Really now?" He muttered as they continued walking.

"My friend, Shaun, is exhibiting symptoms of severe PTSD. He has been having nightmares and flashbacks, he's not eating or sleeping properly, and he's depressed," she explained. Phil seemed to mull over the information for a moment.

"How long have the symptoms been present?" He finally asked.

"About two, maybe three months," she said.

"Hmmm... I could see why you're worrying. Have you noticed if he has tried hurting himself or commit suicide?" he asked.

"No, although there is a belief that he does have scars. Whether they are self-inflicted or caused by the event that is troubling him, I cannot say," admitted Beatrice.

"Well, I can definitely agree that your friend is indeed in danger. However, I'm not sure I know what you want to gain from this conversation," said Philip. Beatrice bit her lip, hoping what she said next would not anger the wolf.

"He's a magus, Phil," She finally blurted out softly.

She saw the man's countenance turn stormy before he exclaimed, "Really, Beatrice?! I expected the teasing from the rest of them, but I never thought that you of all people would –"

"No! Please Phil! Please listen, I'm not teasing you. I swear I'm not! I have known you for years, and I've known Shaun for longer. He _is_ a magus. Just the other day, I could only watch as he changed a simple flurry into a full-blown blizzard!" explained Beatrice hurriedly. Phil paused mid-rant and was watching the bat steadily. At the moment, he was hoping that his friend was just suffering from a temporary work induced psychosis. But her genuinely anguished countenance was hard to ignore. Furthermore, the fact that forecasters were still scratching their heads about the sudden intensity of a storm that should've only put down about 1.27 cm (1/2 an inch) of snow instead of the 15 to 21 cm (6 to 8 inches) of snow in some places before it was over. Maybe, Beatrice had not gone any battier than she already was.

"Okay, let's say I believe you. Why tell me?" The wolf pressed.

"Simple. I know you would do your best to help Shaun and not just cover the symptoms. Secondly, you are one of the only five therapists in all of France that are trained to treat magi," stated the bat. Philip internally sighed as his conscience started to ream him out.

"_You start trying to tear the girl a new one, and she was actually being nice! She came to you because she had confidence in your abilities, not to ridicule you!"_ his conscience tutted as he felt himself flush in shame. Phil had really let that training gaffe dictate his behavior in the worst way possible, becoming self-absorbed and defensive in order to defend himself against the taunting and smears of the established psychology circles. And here he was now sneering at one of his best friends.

"Bea, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped at you. This training thing–" he tried to explain, but before he could, the blonde waved him off.

"I understand, but Shaun really does need help," she pressed. Phil sighed, especially since he wasn't sure if he and his staff were ready for someone like the person Beatrice was describing.

"How well can he control his magic?" inquired the wolf.

"Quite well now. It's just that it reacts to strong changes in emotion. Every now and then though, he has some spectacular outbursts," She admitted. Phil debated for a few moments before making his decision.

"Okay, I will check with my benefactor and staff, but it should not be a problem," He finally said.

"Thank you! Thank you so much!" Said Beatrice as Philip just nodded.

"You're welcome and I really am sorry about earlier. I have been taking so much heat for this training," He admitted.

"I know, but they're just jealous because you got all that money! Not only that, but you also got a new building that's completely furnished and fully staffed," Said the bat grinning up a storm. The wolf laughed as he couldn't deny the woman's logic. All this started when one of the benefactors to the medical center he worked for had offered the center a huge donation. However, there was a catch: they had to have someone attend a specialized training course. Given that he was the youngest on staff at the tender age of 27, Philip was sent by the center to receive the training. He traveled to Geneva and spent four months there learning to recognize, diagnose, and treat magi, of all things! At first, he thought it was an elaborate joke. However, he would rapidly change his mind after being flown to Geneva on a private jet and attended the first class. He remembered that trip like it was yesterday...

_Flashback_

Philip stepped off the plane with a feeling of foreboding, especially since his day had started off in the strangest way possible. He had arrived at the Lyon International Airport early and went through customs as usual. However, it was when he went to find his gate, he was surprised by a man holding a sign with his name on it. He walked over to the horse and spoke: "I am Dr. Philip Dumont."

The large horse regarded the wolf carefully. He then took the card with his name on it and turned it sideways as the psychiatrist realized that was actually a folder, not just a card. The horse looked in the folder moment, then back it Phil. "Can I see your ID, please sir?" The man asked.

At that particular moment, Phil realized that the stallion was wearing a badge. Quickly deducing that cooperation would be in his best interest, he reached into his jacket's pocket and produced his ID. The stallion took the card and studied it.

When the guard handed back his ID, Philip put it in his pocket while asking, "What's with all the intense scrutiny?"

"You are slated to fly on a private jet. We have strict orders to not allow anyone else on board. Therefore, we have to make sure that you are who you say you are," replied the guard. A private jet? No one said anything about a private jet! Phillip was beginning to get the feeling that this whole thing was a very bad idea. "Are you married, sir?" asked the stallion quickly, throwing Phillip for a loop.

"Not exactly…" he started to reply before the guard quickly cut off his explanation by demanding either a yes, or a no answer to the question. "No." The wolf finally answered. It must've been the answer he was looking for, because he asked the wolf another question.

"When did you get your yellow glove in Savate?" Philip frowned, wondering where they were getting this information from. He definitely didn't broadcast his Savate training. Besides, were all of these personal questions really that necessary to establish his identity? However, he decided to save himself the trouble and answered anyway.

"1998," the horse nodded.

"Please follow me," he said before heading off to the right and down a deserted corridor. Phillip followed behind after a moment's hesitation, wondering just what he had gotten himself into. Finally, Phillip returned to the present when he walked into the noisy Geneva airport. He went to the baggage carousel and retrieved his belongings. The wolf headed for the chauffeur that was holding another name card before being taken to his hotel room, where he slept fitfully before attending his first history class in the course the next morning. This class was just the first of many that told him all about how magi came to be.

According to his instructor, in the early 1930s, two scientists set out to determine whether or not ESP, or extrasensory perception, was possible. If one believed the published literature on the subject, the project was a failure. There was no such thing as ESP, telekinesis, or any of these supernatural gifts that filled people's imaginations for years. However, the truth of the matter was that the project was a complete success. They had not only discovered that ESP was possible, they discovered that there were a host of other gifts as well. As science continued to advance and tools that were more precise became available, other scientists were able to pinpoint where the gifts had originated and how they worked.

The most common theory taught was that magic was the byproduct of a special form of metabolism. Like plants and some bacteria, some people could produce their own form of energy. This was because of a special symbiotic organelle in their bodies. This organelle could take raw "manna" energy from the atmosphere and convert it into a sugar that could easily be broken down by the organelle. When the organelle then metabolized the sugar, instead of the usual Adenosine Tri-phosphate, or ATP, that was produced during normal cellular respiration, it produced a protein playfully called Manna Tri-phosphate, or MTP. It had a similar shape to ATP and was used by the body as a form of alternative energy. However, compared to the ATP output of the mitochondria, the organelle would only put out half as much MTP. Scientists hypothesized that the MTP was used in conjunction with ATP during times of large food shortages caused by heavy competition, since major evolutionary strides were being made by many species at the same time. The early mannatrophs, or magi for short, were able to survive on smaller amounts of food than their completely heterotrophic counterparts. Therefore, the organelle was transferred from parent to offspring through reproduction.

Over time, as agriculture became prevalent and with it the rise of civilization, mannatrophs continued to produce MTP. However, their bodies no longer utilized all of the MTP produced, since food was more readily available for ATP production. As a consequence, MTP levels rose in the body and would be released as a radiating energy similar to heat. This external energy would become known as "magic". As mannatrophs became more consciously aware of their magic, they would begin experimenting with it. From there, different branches of magical practice would slowly come into existence over the centuries. However, with the rise of cut-throat politics and religions, identifiable magi were turned into vilified scapegoats and driven underground. Despite being oppressed, mannatrophs continued to pass on their abilities to their offspring and the number of mannatrophs continued to grow quietly. Thanks to their MTP, mannatrophs were able to outlast famines, plagues, and even wars.

Which is why when a consensus was run in the 1950s to gather data on the magi population in the more developed countries, scientists found that 45% of the population had magic levels and exhibited abilities that were usually attributed to "trueborn magi". A further 52% of the population was what was called "potentials", these individuals did not possess magic levels near the levels of trueborn magi but with training, could increase their magic levels and eventually be taught to use some limited form of a magical art. Finally, the last 3% of the population was considered "normal" or "mundane". These people, for some reason or another, could not produce enough MTP to even give off the smallest amount of manna. This meant that containing, tracking, or just "removing" magi from the population would be impossible; given that 97% of the developed world's population would have to detained, tracked, or eliminated. In the late 1960s, a few surveyors and scientists were sent to other countries. After collecting, scrutinizing and analyzing the information, this information was sent back to the researchers; that based on the data, the numbers first reported were fairly consistent worldwide, give or take 3-5%.

By the 1970s, it was decided that magi were just a subset of anthromorphs, and a major part of the world's population. Therefore, special laws were written in order to govern them. During the world talks in 1971, the World Peace Accord of 1971 was amended to include a treaty on Magi and the Occult. In short, the treaty contained rules that most countries would quietly add to their laws concerning magi and practicing occultists. In exchange, the governments promised not to persecute magi at the governmental level, unless they broke the laws set out by the treaty. The rules were written in conjunction with government leaders, scientists, and magi so that no one party could claim discrimination. These rules would be adopted by most magi and become known as "The Codes". The Codes basically summed up the rules of the Treaty.

1. Magi, or occultists, are not allowed to use their powers against another person unless it is to defend themselves, defend someone else, or offer assistance to someone (i.e. healing).

2. Passive Magic, like Telepathy and Empathy, were to be contained through shields, and any information gathered through this magic could not be utilized without consent and/or with ill intent.

3. Magi were responsible for teaching their offspring, or other "trueborn magi," about the Code and their magic.

4. Magi were not allowed to teach potentials how to utilize magic unless granted permission. Permission must be given by a governing magi body after a potential pupil has been vetted.

5. Magi, or occultists, must never perform prohibited magical arts (i.e. production of zombies).

6. The existence of Magi and magic is a government secret, therefore it should only be discussed with other magi, authorized people, or parents of trueborn magi that are not magi themselves.

Now then, Phillip, himself, had been identified as a "high-level potential" during the registration phrase of the training. After the initial history, law, and biology classes, the class had been divided up by mannatroph type. There were a surprising number of trueborn Magi, and the rest were some level of "potential". Then they were further split up by their competencies. Phillip was actually one of five mental therapists in the training program and was one of two psychiatrists there. Because of this, he was paired with a black widow by the name of Dr. Kathleen Sorrel, this being the first time he had ever met an arachnid. She was huge with a stern-looking countenance as well as having short brown hair. Simply, everything about her screamed no nonsense. She spoke with little accent, so the wolf had never figured out exactly where the older woman was from.

The first time they actually met formally for instruction, it was simple, but intense. She made it quite clear that she did not choose students on a whim, and the only reason she was doing this was because she owed an old friend a very big favor. She was going to teach him how to use his magic and mind to heal his patients, warning him that if he ever used her teachings to harm an innocent, not only would she hunt him down, but would also make his life a living hell. The lupine believed her threat before she then went on telling him all of his deepest and darkest secrets, amongst other tidbits of his life, stuff that Phil told no one for various reasons. After that, Phil was no longer a skeptic. He faithfully learned everything she had to teach, and would eventually be called one of her best students. All in all, he received some life-changing training. However, since the whole magi thing was indeed a government secret, he could not legally tell anyone about it; much to the determent of his career with the center.

_End Flashback_

He would eventually lose his job, despite the generous donation the center received because of him. However, he was instantly given a new job by the same company that gave the center the donation and him his training. He was now the head of the mental health department of a small wellness complex that was recently built in Lyon and had been working there for the past year now, and was deeply enjoying it. Despite this, the secret of his training had been heavy on his heart, and he eventually told the only two souls he could trust: his partner, and the bat beside him. Beatrice had actually surprised him when she said that she knew about magi before he, himself, had known. She had mentioned learning about it in her youth, yet she, herself, was not a magus and now he understood where her connection with magi came from. As he refocused on the present, a nagging feeling began to grow in the back of his mind. Just what had he agreed to? He continued walking towards the bus stop next to the woman, who was now oddly silent.

"Beatrice?" he called, accidentally startling her.

"Huh?" The young woman muttered as Phil laughed.

"You aren't usually this spacey," He said, causing her to stick her tongue out at him in response.

"I'm just really worried about Shaun. He's slow to trust and way too close to self-destruction," she explained as Phil just nodded. He understood her fear, especially since it was a dangerous position to be in. A loved one was on the edge of oblivion, but family and friends were too far away emotionally to help. Phil wanted to ease his friend's anxiety.

"How old is your friend?" Phil decided to ask, hoping to change the subject and learn more about his soon-to-be patient.

"He turned 18 in September," she answered. Phil sighed inwardly with relief. His specialty was trauma recovery, not pediatrics. Therefore, this case was within his areas of expertise. However, he was still quite nervous, because this kid could quickly become one of his toughest cases. After all, the kid was only just legal, and Beatrice was convinced that the kid was going to kill himself. Meaning Shaun must have had a rough ride lately, which undoubtedly meant that there would be several issues to work through. No matter though, he was always up for challenge; it was the reason he chose this profession in the first place.

"Okay, I'm willing to take him on. As I said before; however, I have to get clearance first, and that may take a few weeks. If you think he gets worse before I contact you again, have him committed temporarily and gain power of attorney over his medical decisions. Of course, this means you have to have him declared officially mentally unsound. I know it doesn't sound nice, but it's the only way to get any legal power to make any medical decisions for him, since Shaun is technically an adult, if only by age. This way you can keep him in a facility until he can be moved in order to cut down his chances of hurting himself in the meantime," He suggested. Beatrice made a face of discomfort, and then gamely nodded.

"Technically, I was his legal guardian," She admitted.

"How did that come about?" He asked as they stopped at a crosswalk.

"We were all orphans. After Bryan and I left, a lot of the kids were being tossed out of the home by the owner and Shaun wrote us frantically for help. We decided on a guardianship because it was the quickest, and easiest, way to help and somewhat protect them," she explained before crossing the street once the light changed.

Phil tried to placate his friend by stating, "Then you will probably not have any trouble getting power of attorney."

Beatrice must've decided she needed a complete change of subject because her next words were, "Now, enough about me. What are your holiday plans?"

Phil grinned slightly and shrugged. "Nothing super exciting. We'll probably stop by to see Evelyn's parents; probably go see my parents and uncle on Christmas Eve just to avoid the yearly grumblings. Then we'll probably spend Christmas and the day after in Evry. We'll probably be back in Lyon to bring in the New Year. What about you?" He asked as they stopped at the bus stop. She copied his shrugging gesture playfully.

"Well, at the moment, I can't say," she admitted. "We were planning on driving around and looking at the lights on Christmas Eve, then before that we were invited to the Christmas party that Bryan's job was hosting on the 23rd of this month," She never got to finish as Phil interrupted her,

"Don't you mean today?" He interjected with a raised eyebrow as Beatrice just rolled her eyes at the wolf before continuing.

"Of course. But…we probably won't go, or Bryan might go by himself. I don't want to leave Shaun too long by himself. That's why I took an opening shift today," she explained. She watched the bus roll up to the curb and she stepped on. After paying her fare, she took an empty seat with Phil sitting across the aisle from her.

"It's nice that you are loyal to your friend, but don't sacrifice all of your plans. Because –"

Phil warned before the bat cut him off, "I know, I know! All of our plans won't be torched, although some will be altered. After all, this _is_ our first Christmas together as an engaged couple, so, I definitely want to celebrate, but I am not going to leave Shaun to wallow on his own. At least, I don't want him to while we're in the same house, "she said, laughing a little. The two friends continued to talk all the way to Phillip's favorite café, where he got off for lunch and Beatrice continued on home.

Beatrice finally made it back home as an anxious feeling began fluttering in her chest. She hoped that her gamble had paid off and that Shaun slept all morning. This was why she did her volunteer hours early in the morning; in hopes that Shaun would still be sleeping after she returned home. She put the key in the door and pushed it open, glad that she and Bryan had finally finished unpacking and decorating the house just yesterday. Their home was furnished in earthen tones with touches of teals here and there to give it some variety. She could not help but smile as a feeling of accomplishment threaded its way through her soul, but that feeling quickly turned into fear when she heard a loud commotion from the back of her house. She froze momentarily, listening for another sound before making her way over to a side table where she opened a drawer and removed a small pistol from it.

"Shaun? Sly?" She called hesitantly as she began making her way through the living room and into the hallway. There was no response. Beatrice's mind was working furiously to determine if there was someone else other than Shaun in the house. Her bedroom had one window and the guest bedroom had a window as well. Those were the only other sources of entry, since the windows in the living room were still intact, not to mention that she had to unlock the front door to gain entry. Seeing that the back door was also intact, that also ruled it out of a point of entry. She cautiously proceeded down the hallway and her heart dropped when she noticed that the door to the guest room was ajar and could see light pouring from the room and into the hallway. As she proceeded slowly towards the bedroom, she was stopped in her tracks when a rancid smell hit her nose. It was coming from the bathroom and the light was on. She wrinkled her nose but pressed on.

She edged up to the opened door and peered inside. The blue comforter that usually rested on top of the bed was now lying in the middle of the floor with the bed empty with the pillow and the sheets barely staying on the mattress, with the comforter looking as if the occupant dragged it across the floor, before ultimately discarding it at the door of the bathroom. Basically, it looked like someone had stumbled out of bed without any regard to the state they left it in. This only served to further her anxiety as she continued onwards with the gun still raised, ready to be used at a moment's notice. Continuing inside, the female bat noticed that the bathroom door was wide open, and Beatrice pressed herself against the wall. She then shimmied along it until she could stick her head inside discreetly. She peaked into the bathroom and her jaw dropped.

There was Sly sprawled in the middle of the bathroom floor. His fur was matted with sweat and the front of his shirt was soaked with it. The young man was also shuddering as well. The smell had obviously come from him vomiting into the toilet. Beatrice could feel the blood drain from her face as she dropped to her knees. The gun was quickly placed on the counter as she reached out and began shaking him gently as she called his name over and over again. However, the raccoon only moaned piteously without waking. Beatrice sat back on her heels as she took a few deep and steadying breaths as she battled to keep her rising panic and bile in check. Then, the rest of her first aid training kicked in and she checked to see if he was still breathing. The bat crawled closer to the teen and placed her cheek a few centimeters from his mouth, feeling some of the worry leave her when she felt his shallow breath against her cheek. She slowly rolled Shaun into the recovery position so that air could easily get into his lungs. She then adjusted his legs to stabilize his position."Okay. Keep it together, girl… this is the best I can do. Now, I need to call an ambulance," she said as she mentally counseled herself. Stumbling to her feet, she pulled out a cell phone from her jacket pocket and dialed 112(Equivalent of 911 in the States). When the operator answered, she quickly told the man everything that happened.

"Okay, I need your address, ma'am." He said as she quickly told him.

"How long will it take?" She asked, her voice wavering slightly due to her barely restrained anxiety.

"8 to 10 minutes, ma'am," he responded. "How long has your friend been unconscious, and is he still breathing?"

"A few minutes at most, I heard him fall as soon as I walked in the door. He is still breathing, barely so," she explained.

"Ok. It's important that you don't move him. He may have injured his back or neck in the fall and any sudden movements could make it worse."

"I know. I just placed him in the recovery position to keep him breathing," Beatrice thanked the man, before declining his offer to remain on the phone with her before hanging up the phone. She tried to wake Shaun once more by calling him again. When she called him Sly once more, a horrifying thought hit her: what if the doctors discovered who Shaun was? What story could they concoct to hide the raccoon's identity? After all, they would see all the scars and would start asking questions. What were they going to tell the doctors? Before another round of panic could overtake her, Beatrice called her fiancé, praying that he answered.

"Hello? Bea?" said that voice that she loved to hear.

"Amor? Thank goodness! Ohh... something terrible has happened!" she blurted and proceeded to tell him everything in a rush.

"Whoa, whoa... slow down, ce qui s'est passé?" (What has happened?)he asked calmly. Beatrice took another quick breath and then retold her story from the beginning.

"What?! Is he still breathing?"

"Yes, but he's unconscious at the moment."

"Have you called an ambulance?"

"Yes. But, what are we going to tell the doctors?"

"Well, given that it is such short notice, just go with as much of the truth as you can," suggested Bryan. Beatrice nodded to herself thinking, "That could work."

"But what about all the injuries from the Contessa?" She asked.

"As for the Contessa, just say it was a case of mistaken identity," said Bryan uncertainly. She could practically hear Bryan shrugging on the other end as Beatrice sighed. Now that she had a moment to collect herself, she began thinking of an alternative to explain everything. Maybe instead of trying to hide a villain, she could replace it with a more visible one. There was a big time modern Mafia boss known only by the name of Mister, and he had practically enslaved the gang as young teens. While he was nowhere near being as sadistic as the Contessa, the man was not above using physical violence or the threat of harm to achieve his goals. Yes, that could work. Shaun had attempted to escape multiple times and the gang would finally catch a break and escape after a year of captivity, which was mostly true. However, for the sake of convenience he had beaten Shaun severely when he caught up with the raccoon and was recovering from the beating when he fell ill.

"Bea? Are you still there?" called Brian. Beatrice quickly refocused on her situation when she heard her fiancé's voice.

"I was just taking your advice and thinking of a proper story using the truth, at least a version thereof. Thanks for your help, cher," Beatrice answered.

"Okay, I am pretty much finished in Paris. I can grab the guys and head back to Lyon. You just let me know what hospital they take Shaun to," said Bryan before telling her goodbye and hanging up. A moment later, Sly started to shift beneath her hand. She noticed that she had started stroking his face while she was talking on the phone.

"Sly? Don't move, Sly. You are ill and fell on my bathroom floor," She explained softly as she continued stroking his face, while placing her other hand on his shoulder to keep him still. The thief stopped moving and groaned. She felt some sense of relief when she saw the teen make an attempt to open his eyes, thinking that he was finally coming around. It was short-lived; however, as soon as Shaun opened his eyes; the boy started screaming in agony. He quickly shut his eyes and curled up into a ball.

"Mom..." The teenager moaned. Beatrice's heart broke and she began to curse the absent Mrs. Cooper. According to Shaun, she abandoned him at the age of eight.

"What's wrong? Are you hurt?" She asked. She never received an answer, only moans in response. He was out of it again. Beatrice huffed to herself, while wishing the ambulance would hurry the hell up…

**In Paris…**

Bryan felt numb. This was completely out of his emotional range. First, sly freaks out at his kitchen table and then the thief practically barricaded himself in the guest bedroom for the next few days and now he passes out in his bathroom! The bat would be lying if he said he wasn't terrified for his friend. However, Bryan would not let the terror rob him of the ability to keep going during a tragedy. He always had this ability to maintain a level head during more intense situations. However, this often times left him too detached to act quickly if something had to be done immediately; that kind of work was his fiancée's territory.

She was active and passionate, living and thriving in the heat of the moment, always ready to act at the drop of a hat. Just like earlier, when she thought there was someone in the house; she did not hesitate. She found a weapon and checked it out. The downside to her intense nature; however, were her own intense emotions would overcome her rationale at times. She could easily become severely angry or descend into a delirious panic pretty quickly if things became too much for her to handle, but once she had a chance to calm down…that was when she truly shined. Bryan saw Shaun in the same light; however, Shaun tended to temper or even hide what he felt. He hardly allowed panic to take a hold of him, and he kept a tight leash on his anger. Most people didn't even realize that Shaun even had a temper, but those who did, knew that it was a spectacular one.

Bentley and Murray, like Bryan's love, tended to be more reactionary. Bentley was especially reactionary. He would get angry, irritated, excited, and panicked at the drop of a hat. This was pretty much why Shaun and Bentley were fighting now. Bentley was reacting to Sly's seemingly indifference towards him, although that was probably the furthest from the truth. Bryan continued to think back on the conversation he had with the turtle yesterday...

_Flashback_

As soon as Bryan had finished talking with Murray, he had returned to the main part of the cabin. He stood and watched the turtle work. The computer screen's glow cast an eerie reflection off of the reptile's glasses. Bryan couldn't see Bentley's eyes, so he was going to just have to go in blind.

"What are you working on now, Bentley?" He asked, startling the 17-year-old. Bentley yelped and whirled around to stare at the bat.

"Don't do that!" He gasped as Bryan chuckled.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you," he said semi-apologetically.

"Sure you didn't," the turtle grumbled. "but if you must know, I am working on a new algorithm for some security measures."

"That sounds cool. Although, don't you already have four of them?" Bryan questioned, in an effort to keep the turtle talking.

"Yes, but this one is different."

"How is it different?" asked Bryan causing the computer genius to spin around and growl.

"Why don't we just cut to the chase? That way I can continue focusing on my work. I _don't_ know where Sly is. Honestly, right now, _I don't care_." the bat felt his face redden with anger. Murray's earlier complaint had been valid. Bentley was being unusually mean.

"I didn't come here for Sly, or for a fight," Bryan said tersely, biting back his annoyance. "I know exactly where he is! I just wanted to check on the rest of my old _friends_!" the bat turned around and stomped towards the door before leaving the hideout. Unlike Sly and Murray, Bryan did not have the same sense of loyalty to the turtle. Sure the turtle was his friend, but he was not about to take the same abuse from Bentley that the others did. If there was one thing that got Bryan's blood boiling, it was sheer meanness, especially uncalled for meanness.

_End Flashback_

He left the cabin that night without even getting a chance to really talk to the turtle. Bryan was starting to regret letting Bentley's prickly nature get under his fur. He should have at least tried to reason with the turtle. Now, he was practically flooring it through the side streets of Paris to tell that same turtle that his friend was barely breathing. Suddenly, Bryan had an idea that might help make things easier. As he stopped at a stoplight, he reached into his cup holder and pulled out a cell phone and dialed Murray's number. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited for the hippo to answer.

"Hello?" said Murray on the third ring.

"Hey, it's Bryan. Look, something bad has happened. Sly is unconscious and on his way to the hospital in Lyon, the accountant explained quickly as the light turned green.

"What?! What happened?!" blurted the hippo.

"I'm not completely sure. Beatrice found him. I will be there in 30 minutes. Pack up your things, at least enough for few days, and be waiting outside. I am coming to take you back to Greater Lyon with me," he ordered as he sped from the traffic light and continued on to his destination.

**At the cabin...**

"Who was that?" muttered Bentley.

"It was… Bryan. He says something has happened to Sly," answered the hippo as he moved to the other end of the cabin. The turtle spun around as much as his chair would allow and stared in disbelief at his pink friend.

"You're joking, right?" He half-begged unconsciously.

"No, he said that Beatrice found him unconscious. She called an ambulance and Bryan is on his way to take us back to Lyon," he explained as he continued down the hallway to go and pack their things. Bentley felt his heart plummet. Sly was so ill that he needed a hospital? Impossible! It was statistically improbable! Sure Sly got sick on occasion, but usually it was a minor cold. At worse, a rare case of influenza would pop up, which Sly had only had once. Sly had only been in a hospital once, and he had been near death then. Sly had been so injured by the Contessa that he remained hospitalized for three weeks. Now, he was back in the hospital again. Bentley shook with trepidation; what if he died this time? The turtle gulped and hastily pushed that thought away. He huffed in part worry and part annoyance, when the hollow slam of a drawer reached his ears. If Murray slammed those drawers any harder, they would fall apart. The turtle sighed to himself before starting to transfer the data from his computer to his laptop before shutting both machines down. He packed his laptop and its accessories for the trip.

By now, his fear and concern for Sly had now merged with his annoyance at the suddenness of the situation. Now, he was angry again. Why couldn't things ever be simple with Sly? There was always some catastrophe going on with him. Either he was looking for trouble, or trouble found him. Why didn't he ever consider what problems his shenanigans would cause for other people? Bentley's mental rant was cut short as sharp aches from deep within his muscles raced through both of his legs at nearly the same time. His body tensed up instinctively due to the pain, but it only made the painful spasms more intense. Bentley bit back a cry as tears continued to pool behind his eyelids.

His legs had been crushed so badly by Clock-La's beak that the doctors had to replace most of the bones in his legs with metal rods. Amputation wasn't an option because of his shell. In order for the doctors to completely amputate his legs, they would have had to crack his shell. Even in this medically advanced age, some things were still hugely risky, such as cutting into Bentley's shell. There was the threat of the shell getting infected, as well as the tissue underneath it. The biggest risk, in his case, was that the entire lower half of his shell would need to be opened, or removed, to operate. Furthermore, there was no guarantee that the shell would heal correctly, or at all, which was why it was decided that a rod combination would have to do.

While the rods were the most economical choice health wise, they weren't without their drawbacks. The major one being the pain he was currently experiencing; pain that was originating from many different sources, some of it from the aching of his remaining bones. Others came from the grading of the metal rods against his bones and rubbing against his muscles. Further pain came from the occasional muscles spasms, like the ones currently plaguing him. The turtle could not take anymore.

"Murray! Ahhhgrh! Murray!" He screamed. A moment later, Murray rushed into the room. He immediately looked at his friend's anguished face and raced into the kitchen. The turtle could only gasp for air as bile rose up his throat. An eternity later, Murray returned with a syringe in his hands. The hippo quickly inserted the needle into the turtle's thigh. As the muscle relaxer started to work, Bentley finally managed to pull in a full breath of air, which was quickly followed by a coughing fit so severe that it almost had the turtle falling out of his chair. Murray placed a steadying hand on the reptile's shoulder to keep him in his seat until the episode passed. Once Bentley was mostly back to normal, Murray continued to pack their belongings.

The resident genius continued to sit and stare at his laptop bag. It was well worn, but still usable. He almost smiled at the message written on its side. It read, "This is not the laptop you're looking for." It had been Sly's idea of a joke. But the smile did not last long as he was way too busy comparing experiences to really laugh at it. When Sly took care of him, the thief was just as quick to get the meds as Murray was. However, Sly often talked Bentley through it. He would comfort the turtle until it was over, and then take whatever abuse Bentley heaped on him afterwards. Shame began sliding through his veins as the turtle's long buried conscience decided to finally reassert itself. He had been a terrible friend lately as he realized that Sly and Murray were doing their best to help him and here he was berating them both. It had gotten to the point where one of them couldn't stand to be in the same room with him for long, while the other one thought the turtle hated him, the same friend that could practically be on his deathbed. Now that Bentley was finally feeling appreciative and apologetic, the turtle could practically hear Sly's voice in his head now.

"… Great going, shell boy..."

**An hour and a half later…**

Bryan watched the roads wearily as he continued to make his way out of Paris with two-thirds of the Cooper Gang in tow. He had taken the side streets once more due to the roadblocks and checkpoints that were now dotting almost every main road out of Paris. In the intervening time between his first call to the gang and now, there had been a major prison break. Interpol and local police were scrambling all over to recover the escaped convicts. All around Bryan, there was chaos as people were ducking around trees and police cars racing to and fro. He had yet to turn the radio on so had no clue how many of them escaped, or how many of them were truly dangerous.

He took a quick sneak peek in his review view mirror, Bentley was huddled down in his shell and Murray was hunched over in the backseat as far as he could go. He knew they were scared and was thinking quickly about the best route to get out of Paris without calling too much attention to himself and his passengers. As he sat at a traffic light, a bright flash lit up the afternoon sky behind the car. He quickly turned around and gaped as three shadowed figures were streaking towards the car, but that wasn't what had the bat stunned. Behind the trio, was the shock-pistol wielding policewoman, Carmelita Montoya Fox and was pursuing them with all she had. He could only watch as the agile policewoman leapt over a stationary semi-truck while still firing at the escaped convicts before landing on the cab and flipped off before landing on her feet and continuing after them.

Bryan's eyes further bulged out of their sockets when one of the convicts climbed up the front of an apartment building to escape Carmelita's shock pistol. Now that the convict wasn't blending into the shadows, but standing out against the concrete building, he realized that it was an arachnid climbing the wall. Carmelita had stopped pursuing the others to try and incapacitate the wall crawler before the arachnid could make it over the building's wall and onto the roof. Unfortunately, the spider was moving too quickly to be hit, and it disappeared over the wall. He watched Carmelita swear a moment before turning to locate the other two, who were now hijacking a car. The antelope that had been driving the four-door car was left sprawled out on the concrete while the car's tires seemed to scream in terror as the convicts floored the accelerator, and the car took off down the street. The vixen leapt across the road and landed on the hood of Bryan's car. Everyone in the vehicle held their breath, praying that she was not paying attention to who was in the car. She leaped off neatly and continued to pursue the fleeing fugitives on foot.

"Follow them!" a strained voice said. Bryan whirled around to see Bentley peeking out of his shell.

"What? Why?" he asked, even as he drove around the car in front of him and ran the red light.

"Carmelita is hot on their tails, and she has probably already called the car into the road blocks, so they may be less likely to notice us and focus their attention on the fleeing criminals," said Bentley. Bryan considered the idea. It was a risky venture, but it could work. Bryan continued to follow the criminals through the streets, although certainly not at the same speed since he definitely didn't want the authorities on him. He steeled his nerves as they came up on a block. Despite the officers firing on the car, the culprits continued barreling down the road before blowing through the road blocks. However, due to Carmelita calling ahead of time, the officers knew that the criminal were coming and reacted accordingly, having placed spike strips a few meters away from their position. Bryan quickly slammed on the brakes and watched as all four of the car's tires of the criminal's car blew out at the same time. The car continued rolling along on the hubcaps, shooting sparks everywhere as it went. Officers scrambled to put their weapons away and get to their vehicles. Carmelita hopped onto a vacant motorcycle and continued to pursue the fleeing auto. Other cars joined her with their lights and sirens blazing. Bryan's heart nearly stopped as one of the few officers left came over to the car. Bryan took a deep breath and calmed down before rolling down the window, saying "Hello Officer,"

The officer nodded. "Where are you headed?" he asked breathlessly.

"Evry, I have to visit a friend in the hospital there." answered Bryan as the officer nodded.

"Once my boys finish cleaning up the spikes, you can pass and continue on your way," he said with a sigh before heading back over to the other officers. Bryan sighed in relief and waited. After a few minutes, one of the remaining officers waved him through. Bryan drove through the block and continued on his way. He turned off the exit ramp leading to Evry and continued on towards the A6. As soon as he and his friends made it through that checkpoint and paid the toll, they all sighed in relief. Bryan was almost giddy from the feeling. He pulled out his cell phone, deciding to let Bea know what happened and to be careful, because Lyon may be on high alert, too...

* * *

**Done! So, now we have heard from Sly, Bentley, and Murray... what will happen now, especially since our favorite police vixen has shown up? Find out next time! Review with your comments and guesses!**


	5. S1 Episode 4: Uneasy Ground

Glad you guys are enjoying my fic! Thanks to all my reviewers, including the ones for this story and my other Sly fics! So, this chapter features Carmelita and two of her rather puzzling cases!

**Your hints for this chapter: There is **_**1**_** Easter Egg in this chapter. It is a book/movie reference. **

**Disclaimer: ****Sly Cooper and other related characters are ****formerly the property of Sucker Punch, inc. and currently the property of Sanzaru, Inc.**** except for Beatrice Montreal, Bryan Moliere, Desiree Mallery, Desiree Monroe, Nautica Macavity, Aubrey Lancaster, Ann Monret, Armand Jaeger, Phillip Dumont, and Claire Bennet which all belong to me. ****Carmen Fox, Carlos Diego Fox, Kitty Petro, and Ling Chu belong to Kitty Petro****.**

_**Season 1: "When Strangers Meet"**_

_**Arc 2: "Cast Adrift"**_

**Episode 4: **

**Uneasy Ground**

**Back in Paris...**

"¡Criminales malditos! (Damn criminals!)" Carmelita swore as she continued to push the bike as fast as it would go. She hoped the chase would end soon because there were still other criminals on the loose. She was still particularly vexed that the harridan known as the Contessa escaped her! Her eyes narrowed as an angry snarl escaped her lips as she gained on the convicts' vehicle. As the vixen pulled up alongside the tireless auto, she rammed the bike into the side of the car, causing it to slightly buckle. However, but it was able to recover. Carmelita maneuvered the bike back into the next lane then rammed the car again, this time focusing on the nose of the auto. Finally, the car careened into the shoulder before slamming into the wall. The policewoman quickly ditched the motorcycle and redrew her weapon as she made her way towards the burning car. One of the criminals was in the process of bailing from the wreckage. Carmelita called for them to halt and proceeded to chase them down. However, the flames and smoke made it difficult for her to catch up.

Before she had time to even cross the street, the fleeing fugitive disappeared into the smoke. She looked behind her and noticed that the other convict was still trapped inside the wreckage. The vixen growled at the knowledge that she had lost another escaped convict and turned back towards the wreckage while putting her weapon away. She began moving closer to the burning vehicle in order to try to save the person inside. Quickly deducing that the flames were lower on the side closest to her, Carmelita carefully maneuvered her way to the door and wrenched it open. Inside, there was an unconscious todd (another word for male fox) slumped over in the driver's seat. He must've been knocked out when the car struck the wall. Noticing that the flames were growing larger, and closer to the gas tank; Carmelita didn't have time to ascertain whether or not the man was still alive. Reaching into the car and trying to fumble with the seatbelt holding the man in place, Carmelita felt relief fill her chest when she heard sirens punctuate the roars of the flames. The other officers had finally arrived. Her ears twitched when the latch finally clicked open, a smile gracing her features as well.

"Lieutenant Fox! You have to clear out soon! That car is going to blow!" called a voice in the smoke, Carmelita barely hearing the words over the roar of the flames. Catching the man as he fell into her arms, Carmelita put all of her strength into pulling the man out of the car. Suddenly, another person appeared beside her and helped her move the fox. She looked to her left and saw Inspector Claire Bennet. The black bear was putting all her effort into moving the todd. Both women were huffing when they finally made it out of the wreckage as three other officers came forward and relieved the women of their burden, before they all quickly moved to the other side of the street. Everyone shielded their eyes as the car finally exploded, the flames leaping high into the air. _"¡Díos! ¡Qué lío!"_ She thought to herself as she saw the flames completely engulfing the car. (God! What a mess!) Traffic had been blocked by the police, and there were fast-growing lines of cars behind it.

"Fox! What's the situation?" barked a voice that Carmelita knew too well. She turned around and inwardly cringed. Chief Barker was finally on the scene.

"Well, sir, only one of the three escapees I was chasing down was caught," she sheepishly admitted.

"Only one? Where was your backup?" He asked, sighing in frustration. Carmelita's face burned in shame.

"I was chasing down three more perps going in a different direction!" growled Claire as she shivered in the cold Parisian afternoon.

"Chief, we tried our best. There were just too many of them! Two hundred prisoners broke out of Deathrow Penitentiary. It's going to take some time to find and catch them all. Honestly, this wasn't even our jurisdiction, we just offered to help," Carmelita argued. She saw Claire's ebony head nodding in agreement out of her peripheral vision.

"True, but most of these escapees were international prisoners awaiting trial, although a few of them were slated for long-term stays. Now, most of these fugitives are our responsibility, Lieutenant. They have now become, once again, active international criminals. They are now not only wanted for their old crimes, but they are now also wanted for escaping custody and resisting arrest. Originally, this was not our problem, but as soon as one of those fugitives crosses another country's border, it becomes our problem," explained the Chief.

"I suppose. I'm just so frustrated that all these criminals just literally walked out of prison!" groaned Carmelita. Her ears flattened against her head when an ambulance finally made it onto the scene.

"Oh well, not much we can do now other than wait for leads to come in. And then wait for the axe to fall," said Claire as they watched the paramedics exit the ambulance and rushed over to tend to the injured male. "But I do have a question, why now?"

"Simple, the French like their holidays. Most French take their vacation time seriously and are usually gone for most of the breaks, meaning…most government and nongovernmental jobs not completely tied to a direct public service aren't in service. This also includes a good number of guards at Deathrow Penitentiary. They keep a rotating staff during the holidays, but on a day like this, right before the holidays hit full swing...well, let's just say that the staff is rather light due to people scrambling for last minute time off and such," the Chief rumbled by way of introduction.

"So, this would be the perfect time to stage a prison break," stated Carmelita, finishing the chief's thoughts. "The staff would be too underhanded to contain it. But my question is who, or what, was the target? Or at least what was the purpose, asides from the obvious?"

"That is the question, isn't it?" muttered the chief as he turned introspective. Carmelita frowned to herself as thought over an answer to her own question.

"Well, as far as targets go... there was: Dimitri Lousteau, Contessa Ladislava Starosa, Nautica Macavity, José Riviera, Jean Bison, and Rajan," offered Claire. Carmelita nodded as those were some good guesses, especially since any one of them could have orchestrated the break out. Releasing a bunch of prisoners at one time would make it harder to distinguish who was initially being broken out.

"Not to mention, Don Octavio's right-hand man, Franco Bellini... and possibly James McSweeny," said the Chief as he continued to muse aloud.

"James McSweeny? Who's that?" blurted out Claire, yelling to be heard over the sound of an approaching fire truck.

"James 'Big Jim' McSweeny aka Jimmy McSweeny used to run with Conner Cooper in his heyday," answered Carmelita.

"Really? Do you think Sly Cooper was involved with this?" asked Claire as she watched the firemen and women put out the raging inferno. Chief Barker looked at Carmelita in askance.

"I doubt it. Cooper has a habit of putting other criminals behind bars, not breaking them out. Besides, the last time I saw Cooper, he was limping and looked to be suffering other injuries, along with fatigue. Plus, Cooper vanished from the helicopter. Our only lead points to the anti-government group, Nimbus. Not to mention that both his cohorts were recovering from pretty serious wounds. The brains of the outfit, Bentley, lost the use of his legs. At least, that is what the last hospital report said before the turtle disappeared from _Hôpital Sainte-Périne-Rossini-Chardon Lagache _(Could not find the English equivalent, sorry). We believe Nimbus was responsible for his disappearance as well. I highly doubt any of them would have planned something this massive," answered the lieutenant softly as she thought back to that day nearly two months ago.

_Flashback_

There had been fire on that day, too as well as puddles of burning oil in the river and chunks of smoldering concrete on the bank.. Black plumes of smoke were billowing up into the otherwise clear night. The now blackened Clockwerk Parts were lying about in piles, some even floating uselessly in the Seine. She, however, had most of her attention on the haggard bundle of blue rags in front of her. It was almost too good to be true; Sly Cooper had turned himself in, but his reason for doing so had her completely baffled. He had turned himself in, so that his companions could walk free. In her line of work, she rarely saw such a thing. Most thugs would give up their mothers to avoid jail. However, he hadn't, and she was determined to know why. Before she could ask him, the sound of another chopper landing interrupted her. She looked across the plaza to see three more Interpol helicopters touch the ground. She stiffened slightly and prayed that they would believe her after everything that Neyla did to her reputation. As a few officers made their way over to her from the helicopter, she slowly approached them with both hands raised.

"Carmelita Montoya Fox, you are wanted for being an accomplice to theft and escaping custody!" shouted an overzealous Constable, she believed it was Ian McGirth, as they got closer. Carmelita resisted the urge to roll her eyes, hoping that she did not sound like that every time she arrived on a scene. She briefly looked over her shoulder to make sure Sly was still sitting there. The raccoon was still there, but instead of staring at the ground, he was giving her an amused look. Carmelita immediately wanted to groan as she knew the raccoon was comparing her to the loudmouth officer she just heard. She vowed to herself right then and there to rein in her louder speaking habits. The officers quickly surrounded her and the thief as Carmelita stole another quick glance over her shoulder at the raccoon. The vixen was surprised to find pity worming its way into her chest over the ringtail. She was comparing how small Cooper was to the officers around him. She vaguely recalled when they danced together, and how he was actually slightly shorter than her. The wolves that were closing in on him were probably twice his size. She returned her attention to the officer standing in front of her.

"Place your hands behind your back," another officer instructed. Carmelita followed the officer's directions. She shuddered as the cold metal wrapped around her wrists again, watching as another officer attempted to cuff Sly. She almost thought he was going to bolt for a moment when he tried to make himself smaller as the officers closed in on him. But his seemingly shy behavior did not last long, as it was quickly replaced by a more defiant behavior. If Carmelita hadn't been watching from the beginning, she would not have seen him nervous at all! The raccoon slowly rose to his feet as the sharp eyes of Carmelita immediately noticed Sly seemed to be favoring his left leg as he moved towards the officers. Feeling the officer in front of her tug gently on her wrists, she slowly turned around, placidly walking ahead of the officer as the wildebeest that had cuffed her led the former inspector to the waiting chopper.

When the awkward looking duo nearly reached the chopper, a scuffle was heard behind them. Carmelita looked behind her to see Sly on his knees. The dark-colored bull that was escorting him was now shouting at the thief as Sly struggled to get back on his feet. Apparently, that left leg was giving him a hard time and the feeling of pity for the raccoon made itself present again as the ebony-colored bull reached down and grabbed Sly Cooper by the scruff of his neck. She didn't hear him cry out, but the look on his face betrayed the Master Thief as the bovine hauled the raccoon back to his feet. Sly stumbled for a moment but eventually regained his footing, noticeably limping now. Carmelita and the other officers could only watch as Sly was forced to practically lope next to the big bull to keep from being dragged. Carmelita internally winced and bit back a cry when Sly's knee gave out on him again causing the thief to land on the concrete. Carmelita began fidgeting nervously in her cuffs. She had seen his body hit the ground headfirst. Now, he just lay there. Every officer in the vicinity stopped what they were doing and stared. For some reason, this sight made her angry.

"Great going, McGirth! Now, we are going to have a police brutality case on our hands! Thanks to you, Cooper will probably walk free, and with money, too! While all of us lose part of our paychecks to cover it, you'll be in jail!" She snarled, quickly adding the case bit at the end to give more plausible cause for her outburst to the others, as well as herself.

"Shut up! It wasn't my fault, woman!" growled the bull.

"Whose fault was it then, McGirth?" called Lieutenant Erwin Rogers, a no-nonsense badger from the anti-terrorism unit. "You were practically dragging the kid across the asphalt! And respect your superiors, Constable," the bull baulked at the reprimand.

"What?! She is a wanted fugitive!" blurted McGirth, glaring at Lt. Rogers.

"No, she isn't… She was never arraigned or formally charged. Fugitives have usually been charged with a crime. She is not a fugitive nor wanted for a crime, only questioning. As a result, she has not been officially relieved of her rank," replied the badger. The bull just continued to sulk while a paramedic made their way to the raccoon's side. The Chief quickly got things back under control by relieving McGirth of his handling duties and replacing him with the wilder beast that had been escorting her. Erwin took over her escort and finished walking her into the helicopter before making her sit down on the bench.

"I'm sorry about this whole mess," Erwin said as he sat down across from her.

She managed to smile as she said, "Not your fault, Neyla and the Contessa caused this mess," the badger nodded. Carmelita let her eyes wander around the interior of the aircraft. She was valiantly trying to look anywhere but out the bay door. Loathe as she was to admit it, she was worried about Sly.

"I can imagine that being on the opposite end of this scenario has left you feeling a little out of your element," said Erwin conversationally as she absently nodded, clearly not paying attention. After about ten or so minutes of awkward silence, Sly was finally placed into the helicopter on a stretcher. The vixen felt the tension leave her body as a paramedic and Erwin strapped the stretcher to the floor. The raccoon was awake and held a cold pack to his head. While they were completing this task, Carmelita was attempting to convince herself that she was not overly relieved to see that the rascal was ok. No, she was just glad her potential "get out of jail free" card had not run off. Although... _Ok, so I am glad the raccoon is ok. After all, he is a person,_ she amended in her head.

Seeing Ian McGirth manhandling the thief had touched something within her, but she was hesitant to name what exactly that feeling was.

"Some day, huh?" asked Sly, snapping her out of her mental daze.

"That's an understatement," she snorted causing Sly to smile weakly.

"I guess," he replied. Their exchange was cut short as the helicopter prepared for takeoff. Erwin waved to Carmelita before disembarking the aircraft. The vixen flattened her ears against her head to block out some of the sound, relaxing them once the door was shut, enclosing them in a dimly lit container. She found her eyes wandering over to watch Cooper once more, even though he looked completely indifferent to the situation. Here he was being airlifted to a hospital in Lyon, before being transferred to the Interpol headquarters. Yet, the raccoon remained infuriatingly calm. Why? Did he have a plan of escape already? "No, he couldn't have a plan! His usual cohorts were injured in the Clock-La fight," she reasoned to herself. After a while, the helicopter lifted into the air. Carmelita could imagine how everything was falling away as the aerial vehicle rose higher and higher.

"Finally alone, we are…" said Sly, causing the corners of her lips to creep upward slightly.

"You don't like silence, do you?" She asked in response.

"Only the awkward kind," he slowly answered.

"Ah. So, that's it…Right, "she teased. Although, some slight shock accompanied the remark as she realized that she was flirting with Sly Cooper again.

"I swear this is nothing but the truth, pretty lady," he muttered. She shook her sable head; he was forever a flirt.

"For someone with a concussion, you sure are talkative," she commented.

"It is better for the patient to remain conscious for at least one to two hours after a concussion. It allows for observation of the patient's current mental and physiological state," he said, "at least, that's what I've read," Carmelita's eyebrows rose in surprise. She had always assumed that the thief was well read due to the rascal's extensive vocabulary, but now, here was some concrete evidence as the raccoon fell silent once more. A few more minutes passed between them as Carmelita's curiosity continued nibbling at her before it finally got too much for her.

"Why did you do it?" she asked pointedly. Sly removed the cold pack from his face and looked at her with a frown.

"Do what exactly?" He asked, "I've done a lot of things lately."

"Turn yourself in…" She clarified as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat; the bench was hard and the cuffs were biting into her wrists. Sly looked dumbfounded for a moment.

"I thought we agreed that if I came quietly, you would let my friends –" explained Sly before being cut off by Carmelita.

"I know that! Why did you sacrifice yourself?" She asked.

"I thought it was obvious, they are my fam-I mean they are my friends. I would do anything for them," he said. She noticed the near slip earlier as well. Had she heard correctly? Did Sly Cooper nearly refer to the turtle and the hippo as his family? Well, his actions seemed to speak when he, himself, would not. She would do anything and everything for Carmen, or any of her family and Sly seemed to be willing to do the same for his. Suddenly, his actions no longer puzzled her; in fact, they made her grudgingly respect him all the more.

"Well, it's nice to know that some criminals have a sense of morals," she said nonchalantly as she once again tried to make herself comfortable as Sly was watching her with an unreadable expression. She fought back the urge to grimace; as Sly's face was swollen where he hit his head. It was turning slightly purple though she must not have hid her face as well as she thought; because Sly covered up the injury with the cold pack a moment later.

"So, why does it surprise you that I actually care about my friends? Don't you care for yours?" asked Sly. Carmelita blinked only for a moment, especially since his tone sounded accusatory.

"I, well, I do. It's just in my line of work, you usually don't see sacrifices like yours often," she explained with a sheepish shrug before sighing lightly. "Okay, I get that you did it to save your friends, but why save me?" Sly laughed.

"Really, Inspector?" He blurted, "You were innocent. No matter what those two-faced so-and-so's said about you. I did it because it was the right thing to do especially since most of it was my fault," she had been listening to him talk and so far, the raccoon had been sincere. It even showed in his face and mannerisms. As he talked about getting her in trouble, his ears folded against his head and his eyes seemed to show remorse. Carmelita put it down to the small amount of light that was coming in, but she decided not to dwell on it any longer as it brought up painful memories.

"So, you read medical books for fun, hmm?" She tossed out. The raccoon rolled his eyes.

"I can't say I read them purely for fun. After all, someone has to know something about first aid and medicine in a house full of daredevils... but the books are interesting," he said slowly. Carmelita was beginning to notice that the ends of his sentences faded abruptly or slurred together. She looked at the young thief, debating if she should continue conversing with him or not. It was obvious that he was exhausted and she suspected that he was in pain.

"Maybe we should stop for now, you look exhausted," suggested the vixen.

"No! Please, I…" He pleaded, startling Carmelita with the sudden outburst. His plea had sounded almost desperate. After a second or two, he added, "this is the first time that I've been able to have a conversation with you without that weapon of yours in between us. I am enjoying it," it was said so softly that she almost did not hear it. Her instincts were telling her that there was more to it, but she figured there was no need to upset him further.

"Okay, okay. Calm down, Ringtail. So, what was this medical book you read about?" She asked. From then on, they talked quietly about anything and everything. They went from discussing books to movies to even discussing some of their misadventures along the way. Carmelita found it difficult to refute that she truly enjoyed talking to Sly. If anyone ever asked, she would just say that she had been pumping him for information. About halfway through the two and a half hour ride, a loud impact on the side of the chopper stopped the conversation in its tracks.

"What was that?" She wondered aloud as her hands twitched. She really wished that she had her shock pistol.

"What's going on back there?" came the pilot's voice over the speakers.

"We don't know," said the paramedic via the speaker. The bear then stood and started rummaging through his medical bag. Carmelita stopped paying attention to the medic as her senses went into overdrive as she tried to discern what had caused the noise. A moment later, she saw movement out of her peripheral vision.

"Hey! What are you doing?" blurted Sly. Carmelita whirled around to see the paramedic strapping Sly's arms down to the stretcher. Despite his protests, the paramedic continued with his actions. At this point, Carmelita began throwing out questions and protesting his illegal actions. However, the burly man continued his tasks and within seconds, Sly was completely immobilized. The bear then began removing the straps that held the bright orange backboard to the stretcher. What happened next confused the police woman even more as the medic moved towards the helicopter's door and swung it open. The cloak of silence that covered the area was suddenly ripped away by the fierce air flying past the chopper, leaving a raging storm of noise in its wake. The booming roar of the aircraft's blades as they sliced through the sky made verbal shouts impossible, but Carmelita was trying her damnedest to call for help. Carmelita's cries were momentarily stilled, and her body was rendered immobile by shock as the bear reached out of the helicopter, bringing in a harness that was tied to a sturdy looking cable. As the fake paramedic made his way over to the stretcher, it hit Carmelita; he was a kidnapper! He wanted Sly! Her assumption was further validated by Sly's look of horror and panic.

Carmelita renewed her cries for help, but to no avail. She felt like a little girl having a nightmare. The scene before her made her insides clench in fear, feeling the strain on her lungs and throat as she screamed. She knew she was screaming, but in reality, it seemed like she was not making a single sound. The howls echoing from the aircraft's flight was fighting with the rambunctious wind completely overpowered her voice. Just like the little girl, Carmelita was forced to watch helplessly, as that awful nightmare continued to play out, despite her cries. The only reason she knew it wasn't a nightmare was that she could feel the grating pain in her wrists as she rubbed them raw. By this time, the bear finished placing the hooks of the harness onto the backboard, moving back to the door before adjusting something on the side of the chopper, the cable growing taunt before the ursid showed his strength by lifting the backboard with Sly still on it, moving it next to the opened door. The look of pure helplessness and fear marring the raccoon's face before he was shoved from the helicopter would continue to haunt the vixen until this very day. It was unbelievable. Within the span of a few minutes, Cooper was gone! The bear would disappear as well after donning a parachute hidden in his medicine bag and leaping from the helicopter...

_End Flashback_

Carmelita was finally jerked away from her poignant memories when Claire placed a hand on her shoulder. Ironically, another bear was asking if she was okay as the harassed policewoman nodded. They were interrupted when a call for a supervisor from Interpol to come to the prison came over the radio. The chief motioned for the two women to follow him. They walked with the chief to his car and got in. The first few minutes of the car ride were spent in silence. Carmelita was grateful for it; she was still trying to shake the last vestiges of the flashback that she was experiencing. Her chest was still tight, while her throat felt itchy, as if it remembered her screaming. She was so utterly helpless that night, and she hated that feeling; the feeling of terror that could stop someone's heart mixed with the cold knowledge that all one could do was sit there and watch it happen…like a train wreck. Part of you wanted to turn away because you know the damage will be extensive, but at the same time you can't because of the sickening display it creates. She had screamed and screamed until she had collapsed from the strain. The pilot remained oblivious until they had landed in Lyon. Interpol had to wait at least two hours for her to come around before she could tell them what occurred. Once her statement had been taken, she had been placed on paid leave for two weeks while the loose ends from Cooper's kidnapping and the Clockwerk parts deal were tied up. This was because she had developed laryngitis from her shouting and was voiceless for about four days because of it. Not only that, but she was also recovering from an extreme amount of stress. Though, the leave of absence really did nothing for her as she tossed and turned every night during her entire leave, getting little to no sleep whatsoever because of it. She just couldn't shake the scene from her mind. Even now, nearly 7 weeks later, she was still losing hours of sleep to nightly terrors that would propel her awake from a deep sleep with Sly's name on her lips.

She still could not understand why this was haunting her so. Carmelita had been through more terrifying ordeals, so why did this one scar her so much? When the policewoman had been the prisoner of the Contessa, she had been too angry to be scared. The lieutenant had been too determined to clear her name to fear bullets and threats aimed at her. But this kidnapping…she shook her head morosely as she continued to dwell on this vexing problem. Then an idea struck her.

"Sir, what about Nimbus? Could they have been responsible?" She asked suddenly. The chief frowned at her from the driver's seat.

"Can't say 'no' for sure, but it may be a possibility. After all, they snatched Cooper and possibly his turtle friend; why not aim for McSweeny, too?" he mused aloud.

"Why would Nimbus be involved?" asked Claire.

"They're an anti-government group and they would love the chaos it caused... And as the Chief said they did snatch Cooper," said Carmelita shortly as her mind wandered back to the past again. Nimbus was an anti-government organization that could be extremely violent at times. Their violent behavior landed them a spot on Interpol's list of terrorists. Most of their plans usually involved trying to disrupt governmental dealings and plans. Interpol discovered that Nimbus had been involved in Sly's disappearance once Carmelita returned to work and began officially looking into the disappearance. She had been assigned a new partner to help her, Claire, to be exact. As they had combed the surrounding areas where they suspected Cooper disappeared, one of Nimbus's helicopters with their notorious cloud logo had been uncovered in a field. Unfortunately, that had been their only lead so far. Now, much to Carmelita's chagrin; that investigation would have to be put on hold so that they could clean up this mess. She shook her head in mild disgust as they pulled up to Deathrow Penitentiary. The building was a large rectangular structure, having an old, abandoned asylum feel to it. Carmelita felt a jolt of excitement coursing through her veins. Despite what a horrible afternoon it had been, she was glad to be back in the thick of things. This was one of the reasons she became a cop, the action instead of just sitting behind a useless desk looking over even more useless leads.

As they stepped into the prison, Carmelita and Claire had to fight the urge to vomit due to the stench. The walls were reeking with the stench of mold and the scent of all the unwashed and sweaty bodies did not help things, either. Carmelita could also smell the metallic tang of blood in the air. The power was still out in some areas which left shadows hanging in some corridors like heavy black drapes. The three officers did not tarry long the entrance way before meeting up with the completely undone warden of the prison. The wreck of a porcupine was practically hyperventilating. Claire muttered that the man looked close to shooting needles everywhere, or at the very least, wrecking his expensive Amarianni suit. Carmelita wasn't anywhere near amused, barely restraining herself from rolling her eyes as she listened to this sniveling wimp whine every excuse in the book at them to explain why the break occurred. The chief sent Carmelita and Claire with another guard to see what they had been initially called to investigate while he finished talking to the warden.

**Warning! Graphic descriptions ahead…**

After wandering down a series of corridors, they came across an open cell. Then Carmelita stopped in her tracks by the blood trickling out of the cell. _"Great, now we have a murder on our hands as well. What if this was the real reason for the break in?"_ She thought to herself. The vixen was now certain that there was more going on here than they originally thought. Carmelita quickly gathered her wits and entered the cell. In the middle of the nearly claustrophobic space, lay the body of Jim McSweeny. The large walrus probably died of asphyxiation thanks to the gash in his throat, but that wasn't what had the vixen stunned.

Someone had mutilated the walrus. Along with the gash in his throat, someone had also cleaved his right hand off and presumably taken it. The blood that was seen trailing out of the cell originated from the stump. Someone also took great pains to remove some of the big man's tattoos, leaving behind bloody patches of flesh that made the man's back, and sides, look like a bloody quilt. Whoever did this had a secret to hide; the secret that Jim McSweeny had immortalized on his body.

**Scene is done...**

Carmelita frowned as she continued to stare at the body they found inside the cell. This was one bizarre case...especially when the events from a few months ago were added in, assuming that they were somehow connected. Cooper: missing… Bentley: missing… Now, James McSweeny: deceased. It just didn't make any sense. What was going on with the Cooper line now? She quickly stored that line of thought away before getting back to the matter at hand.

"Can you tell me if anyone else was murdered?" asked the vixen as she continued to study the scene. The guard said that the prison was thoroughly searched and besides the guards that were trampled to death, no other bodies were found. There were only two of those, and they had been found in the hallway with their demises recorded on tape. "This man had to have been the target then," the vixen thought to herself.

"Was anyone in here when the inmate was murdered?" asked Claire as she tiptoed around the body, looking for more clues.

"No, ma'am. Most of the guards were outside, trying to corral the inmates from the other blocks or just trying to survive the onslaught of prisoners," he answered. Now Carmelita knew without a shadow of a doubt that this prison break had been staged to cover up the murder. As this cellblock and the two next to it were unlocked when the power went down, and the backup generator was delayed. However, none of the other buildings were affected. Carmelita couldn't help but shudder at the implications and what they meant for the prison system, along with her chances of finding Cooper alive. That was_ if_ Nimbus was responsible for this murder. She groaned as she felt the infantile throbs of a tension headache starting to press against her skull.

"Man, this is some messed up sh- I mean, stuff! I mean his hand is straight up gone! If I see anything that remotely looks like 'Red rum' on these walls, I'm gettin' outta here!" said Claire empathetically as the CSI unit started combing the cell for evidence.

"Tell me something I don't know. First Cooper and the turtle disappear, now this. " The two women left the CSI unit to their job and returned to Interpol. The chief looked mad, like a bear with a toothache.

"Well? What's the situation?" demanded the chief.

"James McSweeny's body was found in his cell. It's been excessively mutilated, sir. His hand, as well as a few of his tattoos, has been removed. His throat was also slashed. At this time, there is no murder weapon or motive," answered Claire.

"Can this night get any worse?" groaned the chief.

"Ya might not wanna say that too loudly, boss... the fates might take it as a challenge." warned Claire jokingly. Carmelita grinned in grim amusement while Chief Barker rolled his eyes before spotting two new officers coming in the prison and waved them over.

"Chu! Petro!" he greeted them once they were by his side. One of the officers was a plucky blonde vixen and the other was a dark-haired male snow leopard. Carmelita vaguely knew of them and from what she heard; they did good work, even if some would consider their methods a little…unorthodox.

"Hey Chief... Who drained the happy out of this place?" joked Inspector Petro as she looked about warily.

"You and Constable Chu will oversee this nightmare of a prison break; while Lieutenant Fox and Inspector Bennett will oversee the murder of James McSweeny and his missing appendages," said the german shepherd as he ignored the girl's earlier attempt at humor. They nodded and went on their way; while the chief, Carmelita, and Claire headed out the door.

"Why did you single out the murder?" the black bear asked as they continued towards the car.

"Because I have a feeling that this may tie into the Cooper gang's disappearance. And I also want you two to take charge of the Nautica Macavity escape, because the breakout and this murder sound like her father's work…" said the 51-year-old man as they got into the car.

"Funny, I was thinking the same thing, sir." said Carmelita as the car roared to life...

**The next day…**

Carmelita sighed as she continued to dry her hair and fur in preparation for the day ahead. She was actually once again clamoring to get to work. She was restless and ready to complete her assignments. She was ready to go by 6:30 am and out of her door by 6:35 am, making it to the station by 7:15 AM. Claire walked in about 2 minutes later and both women exchanged pleasantries before diving into their paperwork. An hour passed by in this manner as they both slaved through the pounds of paperwork that the prison break and murder generated. A few minutes later, Carmelita called for her assistant, Winthrop.

"Yes, Ms. Fox?" He asked eagerly, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. Carmelita ignored Claire snickering as she gave him orders.

"I need you to copy and file these reports. Bring the copies back here and file them in my personal file cabinet," she instructed as she pointed a stack of finished reports. The weasel nodded enthusiastically, before grabbing the pile and turning to leave. "Wait," she huffed, annoyed that he did not even wait long enough to make sure she didn't need anything else. "I also need the Cooper kidnapping file, as well as everything I have on Nautica Macavity and her associate, Aubrey Lancaster." The weasel nodded like a bobble head and jetted from the room. By this time, Claire was giggling openly now. Carmelita just shook her head and smiled wryly.

"What? I'm sorry…" The black bear said through her laughter, "he is just so fun to watch. The poor thing gets so excited around you that he doesn't know what to do with himself," Carmelita just rolled her eyes as Claire giggled some more before finally returning to her work. Quite a few minutes later, Winthrop returned with the report copies. He began to file them in the cabinet unobtrusively.

"There is so much information, but no sustenance," Carmelita grumbled as she tried to make sense of the evidence from last night's prison break and murder.

"Speaking of sustenance, why exactly are we looking for Cooper?" asked Claire, "I figured all of Interpol would be dancing for joy that he was out of your hair?"

"Well, Cooper and his gang have come across a lot of governmental information during their heists. If Cooper is being held and pumped for information, he has the potential to cause us a lot of trouble on the global stage," answered Carmelita tersely, Claire's nonchalant tone was grating on the vixen's nerves for some reason, though she didn't know why. As the day wore on, Carmelita became more and more wound up for no reason. At first, she thought that she had just been ready to get back to work, but now she wasn't so sure. She was on a short fuse and it wasn't even noon yet! Winthrop finally finished his filing and left to go find the other files that she requested. She returned to her work without another word. A little while later, the weasel returned with the files. She thanked the weasel and started sorting them out. First, Cooper's file was put away in her personal file cabinet for investigation later and Nautica Macavity's file was left on her desk. As she sat down again, Carmelita opened the file and began flipping through it.

Nautica Macavity was a hybrid of fox and cheetah descent. She was the biological daughter of Joseph Macavity, a current front-running owner of many biomedical research firms in Europe. This was particularly unusual given that Joseph Macavity was also known for his bigotry, especially when it came to cross speciation. However, everything about the mysterious woman came to light about two years ago. It was discovered that Mr. Macavity, whose real name was actually Armand Jaeger, was using his biomedical research firms to conduct illicit research on evolution, genetics, and "magic" of all things! He had even started an underground in-vitro clinic, where he had technicians working to create infants with specific physical traits, as well as running a child supports center came in conjunction with law firms that he invested in all over the world. These facilities were mostly used to harvest children that may have magic. Nautica was one of those in-vitro created fetuses that had been "discarded" as unusable. However, she instead had been stolen for research. When they were through with her, they tossed the then five-year-old into the foster care system.

Her criminal record would begin at the age of 10. She was believed to have killed her foster parent in order to take over the business. She would then move on to ATM scams and car-jackings along the street where the store was located. She somehow managed to locate her biological father during that time, and they began running outfits together. Like most Mafia families, their "legal facades" were above the board; however, all of their underhanded dealings were as shady as they came. After Carmelita had been reading for a few hours, she was interrupted when her sister rushed into the office. Carmen Fox was a freckle faced brunette and the only female at Interpol that held the rank of captain. Carmelita smiled wearily at her older sibling before motioning her over to the desk.

"What brings you here, sister?" Carmelita asked.

"We just received word that Nautica Macavity had been spotted. I came to tell you because poor Kitty and Ling are swamped with calls and work," answered Carmen as she leaned against Carmelita's desk, causing the lieutenant to widen her eyes in surprise.

"Where?" She blurted, her attention fixed on her older sibling.

"Robbing an outlet store on the outskirts of Marseille," She answered. Carmelita leapt from her seat and started gathering her gear and closing up files.

"How long ago?" Asked Claire as she followed Carmelita's lead and prepared to leave.

"About two minutes ago," was Carmen's response. The two women swore and quickly raced to finish their preparations. They finally fled from the office as if hell was on their heels. As Carmelita raced through Paris's streets, she was praying that the hybrid would not head underground once again before they could bring her to justice. Finally, nearly 20 minutes later, they turned onto the street where the fugitive was spotted. The local cops were on the scene as well, but the women decided to play the scene out a little more covertly, knowing how tricky Nautica could be. The women stopped the car and spread out along the street as Carmelita made her way into a small clothing shop. The shop only had three patrons in it as the vixen began looking at some of the clothes on display, or at least pretending to do so. However, she continued surveying the storefront, and the street out of her peripheral vision, not seeing anything out of the ordinary…yet. They figured since the bear was a newer officer, Nautica may not recognize her as one and bolt before they had a chance to arrest her. Carmen and Carmelita took positions on the ends of the street, hoping to trap Nautica between them if she managed to slip past Claire. After speaking momentarily with the sales clerk, Carmelita left the shop. She headed down the sidewalk, seemingly lost in her own world. When in truth, she was quickly surveying the area for anything out of place, or any hiding places. She scanned an alleyway briefly, before making a mental note to come back and check the area more thoroughly later. Unbeknownst to the vixen, a pair of green eyes was watching her from the alleyway...

Nautica Macavity watched from her hiding place as the policewoman wandered past. The hybrid slowly counted to 30 before finally throwing off an old, ratty comforter that she was covering up with. She had been hiding behind a pile of trash bags that fell out of the overflowing trashcan next to her. While the stench had not been pleasant, it kept the police dogs and officers from smelling her and discovering her hiding place. The young woman slowly stood up before proceeding to stretch in a catlike manner. She then pushed a stray red curl back underneath a blue bandanna, before wandering to the back door of a nearby shop. The fugitive rapped on the door in a set pattern and waited. After a moment or two, the door popped open and the redhead quickly slipped inside…

* * *

**And done! Oooohh... another new character, this time a villain! Please leave a review with your thoughts on the chapter as well as your Easter egg guesses! Also, the next chapter will have all of the Easter egg answers for this month. So make your guesses soon! Thanks!**


	6. S1 Episode 5: Something Wicked

Glad you guys are enjoying my fic! Thanks to all my reviewers, including the ones for this story and my other Sly fics! So, this chapter features some background on our two villains! Also, I apologize if this chapter seems a little shorter than the others.

**Thanks again to Dragon and Sword Master for his betaing prowess!**

**Your hints for this chapter: There are **_**2**_** Easter Eggs in this chapter. One is a Sly Cooper game reference, and the other is a play reference. **

**Disclaimer: ****Sly Cooper and other related characters are ****formerly the property of Sucker Punch, inc. and currently the property of Sanzaru, Inc.**** except for Beatrice Montreal, Bryan Moliere, Desiree Mallery, Desiree Monroe, Nautica Macavity, Aubrey Lancaster, Ann Monret, Armand Jaeger, Phillip Dumont, and Claire Bennet which all belong to me. ****Carmen Fox, Carlos Diego Fox, Kitty Petro, and Ling Chu belong to Kitty Petro****.**

_**Season 1: "When Strangers Meet"**_

_**Arc 2: "Cast Adrift"**_

**Episode 5: **

**Something Wicked...**

The vulpine hybrid heard the door click shut behind her. Blinking a few times as her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting in the storage area, Nautica saw several boxes consisting of different clothes, shoes, hair styling solutions, and accessories lining the walls. This boutique was one of the many front businesses Nautica ran to conceal several…less than scrupulous dealings. This particular one was a boutique and salon. Customers could shop for clothes, get a new hairstyle or make-up, or all three at once. Nautica Ivana Macavity was drawn out of her musings by the sounds of someone walking towards her. She grinned indulgently as Desiree Mallery made her way towards Nautica. Desiree was, well used to be, a rather thin, but nice-looking, Dalmatian. Her hair matched her fur pattern. She was moderately intelligent and still was, for the most part. They had met as young teenagers in the slums of Paris and had helped the part vixen with her schemes, desperate for money to help her overworked mother. However, as Nautica schemes became more dangerous, the dog started to shy away from the work, though she did try remaining friends with her. Of course, Nautica had no qualms about milking the girl for all she was worth. After all, they were supposed to be friends, and friends were supposed to do things for each other, right? It had been little things at first... but once she reconnected with her "father", Nautica had quickly discovered a new method of manipulation: intimidation. Eventually, all of Nautica's threats and manipulations wore down the other girl's resolve, which often made Desiree become an unwilling accomplice. Because of this, the last four years had been rough on the female dalmatian. Her once glorious hair had turned stringy and limp, and she had lost an unhealthy amount of weight, looking sick instead of slender now. Even her eyes were dulled with defeat. She worked as a towel girl and janitor for the boutique, and was hardly seen by the clientele.

"There you are!" Nautica said with practiced enthusiasm. The dog only narrowed her eyes at the hybrid; Nautica assumed that it was meant to be a glare. Nautica just grinned in amusement. Their staring contest was broken by the sound of boxes being moved by Ciel, the black panther that had let the hybrid in the first place.

"Well, let's get this over with," grumbled the dalmatian. Now, Nautica just laughed as they both headed for a door in the back of the storage area that led to a private en suite. There was a shower, a privacy screen, and a sink with a styling chair. Nautica sauntered over to it and sat down. This suite was one of two private suites that were usually used for private sessions, as well as illegal Botox injections and body alternations. Nautica sighed as Desiree continued to open and slam the cabinets behind the sink. The redhead turned sideways in her chair, looking over her shoulder.

"What is your problem?" she finally asked. The young canine whirled around and scoffed at Nautica's question before continuing to pull supplies out of the cabinets. Nautica frowned while thinking, "I leave for a few weeks, and now she is angry with me."

"Honestly, why do you ask questions you already know the answers to?" growled Desiree.

"I take it you are not happy to see me?" asked Nautica sarcastically.

"Oh, don't give me that!" hissed the reluctant criminal. Nautica secretly loved seeing Desiree get all riled up, just so she could pour the proverbial 'cold water' on the girl and watch her deflate. "Not happy to see you? That's an understatement! You have ruined my life!"

"Oh Desiree, you always become so testy when I leave you alone for too long..." Nautica teased. She turned back around in the chair and leaned back. "This chair feels amazing though…I must have been away from civilization far too long..." she thought out loud as Desiree snorted in derision. After a while, Nautica sighed as Desiree started washing her hair. The hybrid had been deemed a flight risk by the courts, so she spent the last month in Deathrow Penitentiary awaiting her trial. Thus, her poor hair had not seen shampoo in quite a few weeks. The fugitive started to relax and purr in delight as Desiree's fingers massaged her scalp.

"Nautica, I am going to help you change your appearance, and then I am leaving. No more favors. No more dirty deals..." stated Desiree as Nautica just rolled her eyes and laughed. Desiree constantly threatened to leave, but she never did. A threat or two, and the dog would relent, she always did. As Desiree finished rinsing Nautica's hair in preparation for washing it again, Nautica thought out loud, "It's so hard to have friends these days... The constant work I have to put in to keep them. It's such a bother, but they are too useful not to have," Nautica had put in a lot of work to obtain her list of "friends". Sometimes, she just made it into a huge game, just to entertain herself. However, like with all games, if you play one long enough, then the game gets old and becomes boring. Was there anyone out there who cared about her and her needs? Wait, there was... Nautica's eyes drifted close as a memory began to play inside her mind.

_Flashback _

**Trigger alert!**

About three years ago, she had started a fling with a local drug operator. He was a violent fox who was used to getting his way. Of course, Nautica was used to getting her way as well, so naturally they bumped heads quite often. One particular night, he had been incensed because she took one of his street girls in order to help sell a deal to another one of her father's business partners. He was insistent that she pay him back and while she promised him that he would receive some money once the deal was finalized, he wanted his due right then and there. Therefore, when she informed him that she did not have any money yet, he decided he would take it out of her hide. However, luckily, she had been rescued.

They had been in an alley, and her "lover" threw her against one of the walls. He started trying to take her clothes off, while she was attempting to rip his face off. While she may have inherited some speed from her father's genes, the todd was a lot stronger than the vixen hybrid was. Just as she was close to giving up, a noise startled them both. The angry fox growled that whoever was there better leave, before he made them. There was not another sound. A moment later, the boorish man continued trying to force himself on Nautica. However, Nautica saw something bright flash by out of the corner of her eye, followed by a sharp cracking sound. She watched with wide eyes as the todd's eyes rolled back into his head, and he slumped to the ground. She slowly starts sliding down the wall, her legs numb with the ordeal and no longer willing to support her. As her mind worked furiously to cope with what happened to her, a blue gloved hand appeared before her face. Looking up, she stared into the face of the person who must have rescued her.

"Are you ok, Miss?" asked a gentle voice. She nodded slowly. There in front of her was a blue clad ghost and if it weren't for the blue clothing he was wearing, he would have been undetectable in the dark alley. As her adrenaline rush began to subside, she noticed several details about him. He was a raccoon; his striped-tailed waving lazily behind him. However, the details that froze the girl in place were his eyes, those beautiful light-brown eyes, almost as if they were glowing within the dark alleyway, looking as if they were peering right through her. After a moment, she shook her head and took his hand. She was surprised at his strength, when he gently pulled her to her feet. It was surprising because the raccoon was rather small in stature.

"Thank you," she said after a moment, "you saved me a lot of trouble a few seconds ago," she added as he smiled up at her, and the hybrid's usually stone heart melted into a puddle.

"Well, I am glad I was around to help," he answered affably as he bowed slightly to her. She giggled. Partly from the endorphin rush she was currently experiencing, and partly from the raccoon's behavior.

"So, may I have the pleasure of knowing my rescuer's name?" she asked curiously, keeping a close eye on her ex-acquaintance's unmoving body.

"Of course you may. I am simply Sly, Sly Cooper," he replied grandly. "and who might this vision of loveliness be?"

"I am Nautica Macavity," she replied, grinning shyly.

"Well, a Macavity... how fortunate," said the raccoon as he rested the end of a mysteriously shaped cane on the concrete, leaning on it.

"Fortunate?" she queried as he nodded urbanely.

"Yes, I was actually looking to do some business with Joseph Macavity for a heist I have planned," he answered.

"Oh really? What would a kid like you know about planning a heist?" asked Nautica skeptically as she started to regain her bearings. He just continued to grin at her.

"Just about as much as you do, dear... I just lack the equipment and the funds," was the quick reply.

"I will admit that you are tenacious... fine, I do owe you one. Meet me in this alley in three weeks... we shall talk more then," she offered. The would-be-thief nodded eagerly.

"That I can do..." he practically purred.

"Well, I really have over stayed my welcome, I believe. I must be going," she said before turning away, intent on walking out of the alley and back to her side of town. Once there, she would give herself a much needed shower.

"Wait! What about this guy? I don't want him to hurt you again," said Sly as he started following her out. She hated to admit it, but the genuine concern in his voice made her insides clench. Although, she was not sure why. No one had ever shown any real concern for her before.

"Oh him?" she questioned, jerking her thumb back behind her to point at the fox, "No worries, I will have him taken care of…personally," she grinned ferally at the thought of what she would do to the bastard.

"Well, if you are sure... I shall see you in three weeks, fair lady," said the thief before kissing her hand gallantly before taking off into the night. Nautica had smiled all the way home that night...

_End Flashback_

As Nautica slowly returned to the real world, she realized that Desiree had finished washing her hair and was now applying a new color to it. She yawned softly as her thoughts continued hovering around the thief known as Sly Cooper. They would meet again in three weeks as agreed, though she was a little surprised to find herself looking forward to seeing the thief again, acting almost like a teenager…even despite his rather young age. Over the next few weeks, Nautica began digging up as much as she could about Sly Cooper. From what she discovered, it seemed that this young thief had been born into a legacy of known criminal clan, like the late Conner Cooper. Furthermore, it seemed that while the boy was known for his skills in theft, he was also known for his acts of kindness in the mainstream and underground world. It seemed that even though he grew up on the streets and in some form of foster care like she had, he still managed to keep a decent heart. Yes, that was the kind of friend she needed. Someone who was able to hang around when times got tough, someone that was rough enough to roll with the punches, but still soft enough to hold her at night. She knew it wasn't proper given that the boy was about four years her junior, but she couldn't help it. He was nearly perfect, and with the right grooming, Sly _would_ be perfect. He would be hers and hers alone; she would sell her soul to make it so.

Unfortunately, after concluding their business agreement, she saw very little of the thief. Rumor was that he had been doing a world tour and busting the Fiendish Five a few years back. Now, he had been spotted back on the world stage as he took down the Klaww Gang. Perhaps, when he reappeared, on the Parisian scene, she would make an attempt to see him. Given the vixen hybrid's current thoughts, she was not only going to see him, but she was going to make him hers. She wasn't sure how she was going to do it, but she was going to get it done, whatever the cost.

"Take this and use the shower, while I go find you some clothes," grumbled Desiree as she shoved a bottle of premixed fur dye into Nautica's face. The fox glared at the canine for interrupting her daydreaming, but took the bottle and marched to the shower. She distractedly stepped into the shower and shut the door. Placing the squeeze bottle with the guy in it on the support rail before leaning it against the wall, she then unbuttoned the brown prison jumpsuit and shimmied out of it, before tossing it over the door. One of her dirty blonde paws then turned on the tap, and the vixen groaned in delight as the warm water cascaded over her body. The clear water slowly turned a murky brown as the water rinsed the hair color from the fugitive's hair. After making sure all that hair dye was out of her hair, she quickly washed her body. As her fingers ghosted over her abdomen, they brushed against a scar. A very familiar scar; a small diagonal incision that was just above her right hip with an identical one just above her left hip as well, the only physical evidence of the researchers of her father's experiment.

While doing some digging a few years back, Nautica had discovered that she had been one of numerous incidents that had been bred for research purposes. Armand Jaeger had not wanted any of the experiments breeding outside of the facilities, because they all had these traceable genetic markers that he did not want any legal authorities to ever discover. Therefore, all of them were sterilized before being released into the governmental system. Her fallopian tubes and parts of her ovaries had been burned. Not only did this ensure that she could never reproduce, it also caused developmental problems. She never developed secondary sex characteristics like breasts and hips, but her voice had deepened a bit, so that she had a mellow, husky voice. Not to say that she was unattractive, because she had never had any trouble getting attention, but Nautica felt as if she were robbed of a part of herself. Nautica pushed the morose thoughts away as she reached up and turned off the water. She then turned to the fur dye and began applying it to her fur. The strawberry blonde fur she possessed was another "gift" from her sire. She continued applying the deep red concoction to her fur. After obtaining help from Desiree to coat the fur on her back and tail, Nautica rinsed off and headed out of the shower after waiting the required time for the color to set.

"Your father calls, he wants to see you in the next two hours, so we have to hurry up," said Desiree with a look of distaste set on her face.

**In a house in Marseilles...**

Armand Jaeger had not always been a man of excessive means. No, his father grew up in the 1960s back when most of Germany was still recovering from the repercussions of World War II. Armand would grow up with his basic needs met, but was always wanting. This wanting was not just for money or material possessions, no; any man with ambition or greed could obtain those things, and he already had plenty of both. The cheetah was currently lounging in a burgundy office chair in the middle of the stylishly decorated office on the third floor of a private mansion. As he surveyed his land with cold green eyes, his hand rested on a unique ship in a bottle. The ship was enormous and oddly shaped; it also boasted a lot of canons, but the most curious thing about it; however, was that it lacked a mast and sails. Instead, the deck of the ship was riddled with cabins, and the bow of the ship had two giant holes in the left side of the hull. The ship was a gift that the cheetah received from a secret admirer years ago. His sinuous tail serpentined along the floor as he continued to ruminate on his past and his ambition, especially since his want was so simple…so cliché. What he wanted was simple; he wanted power and the proper recognition he was due as a feline carnivore. The spotted feline had been taught that the world functioned via a simple hierarchy.

On the lowest level, there were the herbivores, because they were the ground feeders. Then the omnivores came next. They had the capabilities to be great hunters, but they chose to limit themselves by still relying on vegetative means if hunting got too hard. The next space was occupied by the lowest form of hunters: the carrion feeder. They were the opportunistic hunters that poached the kills off of the more skilled hunters. Then the line would continue on up to the top species, the wolves. This predator was believed to be the ultimate predator, and race, during the Third Reich, according to the great lupine leader, Adolf Hitler. Felines were the next in line with the mountain felines being the top felines, followed by the forest types and lastly the savannah types. As far as Armand was concerned, he was practically royalty and one day, the world would know it. Of course, some modifications would have to be made to the hierarchy first. A knock at the door signaled to the business man that it was time to stop thinking about his dreams and start making them into realities.

"Come in," he called apathetically. He turned his chair back around to face the door. Shantel, his puma assistant, led a chocolate-haired woman into the room. The vixen's fur was crimson and she wore a smart business suit, a navy blue affair with matching heels. He noticed that her eyes were brown, and that she reeked of chemicals. As he pulled his chair closer to the glass desk, he finally realized who was sitting across from him; the experiment who dared to call her Nautica Macavity! The supposed daughter of his alias, Joseph Macavity! She, in his eyes, was the lowest of the low. She was a mutt, a mongrel! And to make matters worse…she carried his family's honorable blood through her veins. It was a disgrace, but unfortunately, it was also necessary. Initially, the girl was part of his personal military research to create stable half breeds. He felt that it would be a waste to destroy a pure breed child, when half breeds were disposable in the long run. Besides what he was studying was not species specific, so whoever used it for whatever purpose did not matter. However, it had taken a lot of work on the behalf of his scientists and volunteers to produce a viable hybrid. Of course, that just further proved to the cheetah that half breeds were unnatural. Eventually, success would be the reward of their hard work after Nautica's "birth". After her birth, and the birth of a few other hybrid failures, they had finally gotten a handle on the process. They were now producing test subjects on a whim in vivo as well as in vitro. However, that did not mean Armand liked to be reminded of the fact. Nevertheless, the mutt was smart, loathe as he was to admit it, and he needed her to move to the next phase of his experimentation.

"You wanted to see me?" she said, her tone bored. The cheetah felt his hackles start to rise in annoyance, but he pressed on.

"I see that my meticulous planning was put to good use," he said as a way of opening the conversation. She scoffed.

"I just happened to be in the same area as your friend's cell block. You needed to get _her _out as per your agreement. I just happened to be a bonus," she grumbled. The cheetah sighed, deciding to just cut to the chase so that he could get rid of the abomination seated at his desk

"Ok. I need you to head up the magic containment project," he said. He watched as the woman briefly thought about it.

"What's in it for me?" she asked after a moment. The cheetah gritted his teeth in an attempt to control his temper.

"What exactly could you want? After all, you should be grateful that I have allowed you to live this long..." growled the business man.

"My own project without your spotted nose in it," she answered. Armand blinked in surprise. What could she possibly have planned? Then again, if she was too busy with her own project, she won't have much time to poke around in his other plans. This could be a win-win for the feline...if not, he could just get rid of her.

"Fine. But you must start work on the magic containment project immediately," ordered the cheetah. The vixen stood up and nodded before sashaying from the room without another word, glad to be out of the bastard's view.

**Nearly a week later...**

Nautica watched from her seat on a park bench as people milled about the Eiffel Tower. She had started work on the magical container project as she promised. That was going perfectly for the most part, it was her project that was off to a rocky start. She was absolutely devastated to learn that her beloved Sly turned up missing. Those damnable, and inept, paper pushers at Interpol lost him. On a helicopter! How could they lose a person on a helicopter? She had followed up on every lead she found on Interpol's servers, but still nothing. This Nimbus organization was very good at covering their tracks, which told Nautica two things: they had money, and they had some form of power. Maybe they were magi, or at least had magi under their employ? Either way, she had no idea where they, or her love, were. For now, all she could do was continue having groups of her men and women checking every nook and cranny from Paris to Lyon to try to pick up on wherever the raccoon might be.

She continued to look around warily since she was still wanted by Interpol for escaping custody, vehicular theft, and assault...and those were just the charges from the night she escaped. Luckily, the dye job that Desiree performed on her was still holding nicely. She definitely noticed that it took her sire a few moments to recognize her when she walked into his office a few days back, which made her mentally smirk at the recollection as she continued surveying the area. She wasn't just on the lookout for Interpol; she was also scouring the area for her drop man. She decided to continue with her divinely inspired idea, even though the main prize, and outcome, was nowhere to be found at the moment. Usually she would have sent Aubrey, her most trusted ally, after this crucial component, but he was still hospitalized with second and third degree burns. Therefore, she had to trust another henchperson with the pickup. She sighed and looked up at the French Monument gleaming in the distance and when she looked back down, a splash of white jetted by.

Nautica looked over to her right and noticed that a white bat was hastily making her way through the crowd. Before the vixen could really wonder why the bat was in such a hurry, she spotted Desiree approaching her out of her peripheral vision. The canine was carrying a blue lunch bag. It was a simple nylon affair that was folded over and sealed shut with Velcro. Nautica also had one those very same bags tucked under the bench behind her legs. Hers was different, though. It contained 11,000 Euros, rough 11, 500 US dollars, enough money to pay off the grad student that was watching those precious vials of DNA that Nautica secretly stored, which Desiree now carried in her bag. The fugitive slowly stood and embraced the canine before Desiree took a seat beside the woman, placing her lunch bag next to Nautica. The women began to have a rather mundane conversation. Then as they became convinced that the people around them were preoccupied, they turned the dialogue to more private matters.

"So, it's all here, yes?" asked Nautica in a slight whisper.

"Yes, it's all there," sighed Desiree, "are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, what if he doesn't like this?"

"He'll get over it. He has to," came Nautica's confident reply. The dog shot her a look that clearly said she was not convinced. Nautica ignored it and continued her interrogation.

"What of Interpol?" she asked. The canine shrugged.

"As far as our eyes and ears know, they are not on your trail yet. But they are still looking," she answered as she watched a mother and her rambunctious daughter walk by.

"And what of Cooper?" she practically demanded, much to Desiree's amusement.

The Dalmatian's muzzle curled upwards in a wry grin before replying, "It must have been killing you not to ask about him first!" she teased. Nautica only growled at her.

"Get on with it!" she snapped irritably. The other woman laughed quietly.

"Our scouts have determined that Cooper may have escaped and may be hiding out in the outskirts of Paris," she answered. Nautica felt her heart speed up in elation.

"Are you sure? What evidence do they have?" Nautica asked eagerly.

"There are a few photos of him on the rooftops, and there has been one or two of him coming out of farmer's markets and even a store or two over the last few weeks, but there have been no sightings of him in the last seven days. He may have moved to a lesser known location," said Desiree.

"Does Interpol know?" she asked casually, as she pretended to observe the crowd.

"No, they have been too busy looking for all of the escaped convicts, not to mention trying to solve that prison murder. Most of their efforts are focused on the areas near Evry and Lyon," muttered Desiree, as she stared disinterestedly at her nails.

"Oh yes, the walrus... and that is good. Inform me if anything changes," she said as she plastered a fake smile on her face. The hybrid then leaned over and hugged the canine, who stiffly returned the hug.

"I will, I will... Now, will you please remove those henchmen from around my mother's apartment? They are scaring her," pleaded Desiree in her ear.

"No, you have a tendency to backslide when I don't keep a tight leash on you," Nautica stated matter-of-factly as she released the Dalmatian. The dog glared at her before grabbing the lunch bag behind the hybrid's legs and leaving. Nautica then leaned down and grabbed the bag that was left behind. She opened it to find 4 vials of serum kept cold by a small frozen ice pack that came with the lunch bag. Then in a sealed bag there was a red apple. She reached in the bag and pulled it out. She unwrapped the fruit, and put the bag back in the lunch box. She closed the pack and sat it next to her on the bench. She spent the next 15 minutes lounging and nibbling on the apple. Once the apple was eaten, she placed the core back in the sealed bag and then placed it back inside. As she stood up to leave, she noticed that the white bat was making her way back across the square. She watched the young blonde continue past her, before turning and heading for the nearby Metro bus stop...

**Meanwhile with Beatrice...**

The young woman was on a single track mind as she continued to make her way through the surprisingly busy square. After all, it was only Sunday. She was desperate to get to her car as she still had another five hour drive ahead of her. These past few days had truly been stressful for the bat. She was juggling her job obligations around playing medical proxy for the ailing Sly. On top of that, Bryan and she were caring for Bentley and Murray. They were now under their care while in Lyon. That was part of the reason she had been back in Paris for the seemingly umpteenth time in the past few weeks. She had to come meet a "friend" of the gang's to pick up Bentley's medications. The turtle had been running low before the two made the perilous journey to Lyon and were unable to go back to Paris because of the large scale manhunt going on around the area for the convicts that escaped during the Deathrow Penitentiary prison break and had barely made it out of Paris. Therefore, the two bats were left doing most of the running as the other two members of the Cooper gang could not venture out of Beatrice's house; it was too risky. She had to get back to the house so that Bentley could get his medication, and then she could relieve Bryan at the hospital. The two of them had been taking turns staying with Sly and relaying information from the doctors to the worried family members at the house. She finally made it to the green car and hopped in before throwing the bag with the medication into the passenger seat. She started up the car and pulled into traffic. While she was sitting at a traffic light, she pulled out her cell and made a phone call. She waited as the phone rang.

"Hello?" said a nasally voice.

"Bentley, I have your medication, and I am on my way back to Lyon with it," she informed the turtle as she pulled away from the light.

"Great! Thanks," he said.

"I will be there in the next 5-6 hours. Any word from Bryan?" she asked.

"The last I heard, his condition had not changed. Sly's still comatose," answered Bentley...

* * *

**And that is it! I am sorry it is so short, but that is all I have for now. The next chapter will be longer, promise. As always please review... and now for last month's Easter Eggs:**

**Chapter 1: There were no Easter Eggs.**

**Chapter 2: The size of the hole that Sly was in was 6ft by 6ft, which is a reference to the book, ****Holes**** by Louis Sachar.**

**Chapter 3: Sly's prison number: 14092004 is actually the scrambled release date of Sly 2, which is 09/14/2004.**

**Chapter 4: The phrase written on Bentley's laptop bag is an altered phrasing of the famous, "These are not the drones you are looking for." line from Star Wars.**

**Chapter 5: Claire makes a reference to ****The Shining**** when she mentions the words Red Rum, which of course is "murder" spelled backwards**

**Don't forget to make your guesses for this chapter in the review!**

Dragon and Sword Master: I want to apologize to the readers and people who review this story. As of 4/26/13, Chapter Six of Loving Strangers has been edited by myself.


	7. S1 Episode 6: An Injured Body

Glad you guys are enjoying my fic! Thank to all my reviewers including the ones for this story and my other Sly fics! So, this chapter features some background on a main character that we haven't gotten a chance to really hear from in this fic!

**Thanks again to Dragon and Sword Master for his betaing prowess!**

**Your hints for this chapter: There is **_**1**_** Easter Egg in this chapter. It is a song reference. **

**Disclaimer: ****Sly Cooper and other related characters are ****formerly the property of Sucker Punch, inc. and currently the property of Sanzaru, Inc.**** except for Beatrice Montreal, Bryan Moliere, Desiree Mallery, Desiree Monroe, Nautica Macavity, Aubrey Lancaster, Ann Monret, Armand Jaeger, Phillip Dumont, and Claire Bennet which all belong to me. ****Carmen Fox, Carlos Diego Fox, Kitty Petro, and Ling Chu belong to Kitty Petro****.**

_**Season 1: "When Strangers Meet"**_

_**Arc 2: "Cast Adrift"**_

**Episode 6: **

**An Injured Body**

**Back at Beatrice's House... **

"Well, at least Shaun's condition hasn't deteriorated anymore," sighed Beatrice on the other end of the phone. The turtle did not contradict her. Right now, all the Cooper Gang could do was be thankful for that particular news; that things had not gotten any worse.

"Yeah, well, we should keep this conversation short in case someone has managed to place a trace on it," advised the turtle. Beatrice said goodbye and hung up. Bentley hung up the prepaid cell he was using, and groaned aloud as his head dropped into his hands. Bentley had not felt this hopeless, and depressed, since being left alone in the Indian Jungle. Things had not been going well for the Cooper Gang since that damn jungle job. Then again, statistically, this was par for the course for them. The Cooper gang operated on ten percent preparation, twenty percent skill, fifteen percent will, five percent pleasure, and on fifty percent sheer dumb luck! As much as they courted luck, she was a fickle friend. She would stick around during spring and summer, but come winter and fall, she would vacate the premises and leave a massive bill behind and take the payment from their very hides. After the luck they had been having the last few years, Bentley just knew that eventually the bill was going to be due in full, and immediately. Surviving the Fiendish Five, along with all the jobs they had gotten away with cleanly during the intermittent time between the Clockwerk jobs were going to be worth at least one of their lives. From the looks of it, it would be their unofficial leader. Bentley himself had already paid with his legs...and Murray...he really hadn't seen the hippo often since they reached Beatrice's home in Saint-Cyr-au-Mont-d'Or. Both of them kept to themselves for the last week, both lost in their own worlds. The turtle rolled himself to the backdoors and looked out at the nature beyond them. As he gazed morosely at the landscape, the reptile wondered for the umpteenth time how he ended up where he was.

He had been brought to the orphanage at the age of two. There were very few records of his folks, but he had bits and pieces of information about them. For example, his father was a Vietnam War soldier, and his mother had been a teacher. What happened to them, no one knew. He had spent six years at the orphanage alone, before a slightly chubby hippo appeared. Murray came to the orphanage when the hippo was eight years old. Due to the fact that the orphanage was starting to become overcrowded, they were both relocated to the attic. The day that the two met was unforgettable.

_Flashback_

The turtle had spent the last week fretting about his new roommate. He didn't know anything about this person, except that it was a boy. Because according to the matron, it was improper to have girls and boys room together. Therefore, it was obvious that his new roommate would be another boy. Today was it; he was going to discover who this mystery person was. Suddenly, he heard footsteps on the attic stairs and before long, the trap door was eased open by someone. Bentley could not see who it was because the turtle had taken refuge in his shell the moment the trap door started moving. The turtle gasped in terror as two heavy thuds sounded on the landing. Bentley hoped that maybe whoever the gargantuan was wouldn't see him, or at least the shell wedged between the bed and the wall. The reptile only shook harder as the footsteps got closer and closer. Then an excited voice exclaimed,

"You know, you're shaking so hard in your shell that you sound like someone playing a maraca!" Bentley shrieked, before falling over in a dead faint. A few moments later, the turtle came around to find two huge brown eyes staring at him.

"Gahhh! Please don't eat me!" he cried out before hiding out in his shell again. Then he heard laughter before Bentley peeked out again to see a pink hippo doubled over in laughter.

"Eat you? I wasn't going to eat you! I just wanted to say hi," explained the boy. Bentley groaned in embarrassment.

"Oh, well now that I have made a fool of myself, I should probably introduce myself. I am Bensworth Jasper Bentley," said the turtle. He reached out and shyly shook the other boy's hand. Although, he was internally goggling as his hand practically disappeared in the larger mammal's hand.

"I am Murdock Bardray," answered the pink mammal with a smile.

"Murdock? That is an interesting name," commented the turtle as he adjusted his spectacles.

"My folks were big comic fans. I know, strange, but they were huge Daredevil fans, and well they decided that Murdock was more...special or something, so that was that. At least that is what my Grandma used to say. Though you can call me, Murray...like Grandma used to," he said. Bentley nodded.

"You can call me, Bentley. I don't like my other two names much, but keep it between us, deal?" offered the turtle.

"Like a secret?" he asked, excited once more. The turtle nodded once more. "Ok, Bentley!"...

_End Flashback_

Unknowingly, Bentley had made one of two lifelong friends that day. They had been through so much together over the last eleven years, and as much as Bentley hated to think about it, all of that was practically a hair's breath away from oblivion. What made it worse was that he was responsible for some of it. He was eighty percent certain that this whole ordeal would not be as harrowing as it was if he had not been such a jerk. If he hadn't been so busy being bitter, maybe he would not have chased Murray away, and he would not be braving this nightmare by himself. Maybe if he had been paying more attention and noticed just how sick Sly was, maybe he could have convinced the raccoon to see a doctor sooner. That may have prevented him from developing meningitis; which would have prevented this event from even transpiring. Nevertheless, no amount of hindsight could change the fact that the Cooper Gang was ironically on its last legs. As he turned back around to go find his favorite comfort, his laptop, he spotted Murray slumped over on the bats' couch. The hippo looked pale; he himself probably did, too. They had not been outdoors very often in the last few months. The hippo finally noticed that someone was watching him as he turned to look at Bentley.

"Anything new?" he croaked.

"Unfortunately, and fortunately, no there isn't," grumbled the turtle. Murray just sighed.

"I am really worried about him, I mean we haven't even seen him yet!" he complained.

"I know, Murray. But you know it's not safe for either of us to travel," said Bentley as Murray groaned.

"But, I still can't believe that he is dyi-" said Murray, before Bentley cut him off,

"Don't say it!" demanded the turtle, "He is not dying!"

"But Bent, according to the doctors, Sly is-" Murray started again.

"Comatose. That does not mean he is dying!" insisted Bentley, cutting the hippo off yet again.

"B-but, he can't even breathe on his own," protested the hippo. The turtle was not ready to shatter his bubble of fantasy, not yet. He just sighed and continued over to the portable desk that currently supported his laptop. The techno-genius logged onto his laptop, and he spent an hour aimlessly attempting to debug a couple of programs that he had been working on. Then his cellular began to ring, breaking the silence.

"Hello?" he answered.

"Bentley? It's Bryan," said the bat.

"Something wrong?" asked the reptile anxiously.

"Unfortunately, the doctors believe that Sly has had a stroke and are worried about the resulting swelling in, and around, his brain. The cranial pressure may lead to more brain damage. The physicians want to go ahead and schedule a procedure, but Bea and I are worried that Shaun's magic will react badly to any attempts to operate," explained the man.

"I see your concern. But what can we do? After all, he needs to get better, right? However, he could accidently run afoul of the treaty laws," sighed Bentley, shaking his head.

"Beatrice said that she would talk to Phillip about getting Shaun moved to the center before the procedure takes place," explained Bryan.

"What center? She never mentioned any center," blurted out Bentley in alarm.

"An old school roommate of ours works for a medical center that specializes in caring for magi. It would also have the extra benefit of allowing you two to visit Shaun. The place is practically in the middle of nowhere," said Bryan calmly in an attempt to soothe the turtle. "I just wanted to let you two know. I will update you later." Bentley hung up the phone and went back to his debugging distraction, but quickly gave up, his mind on his friend. He instead went information hunting. Surprisingly, the turtle could find very little on the center that Bryan spoke of. They had super tight security, and he was not able to hack it from the mobile station he had with him. Therefore, he turned towards trying to understand what exactly the situation was with his sick comrade.

Sly was currently in a stage 7 coma, according to the Glasgow Scale and grade 2, pushing grade 3 coma, according to the Coma/Non-Coma scale. Both scores could be read as a moderate coma. Complications from meningitis was the reason behind the coma. Meningitis, simply put, was the swelling of the meninges, the protective coverings surrounding the brain. The meningitis was a result of left over _s. pneumoniae_ bacteria left over from a bout of pneumonia that Sly had a few weeks ago, making its way into Sly's head and spine. Now, Bryan was saying that doctors were worried that the raccoon had also suffered a stroke, and that the swelling in Sly's brain was getting worse. They had been giving him medications to help with the swelling, but apparently they weren't working. The raccoon had been comatose for the last week or so, and the doctors had been scrambling to determine any alternate causes. So far, they put it down to complications due to the meningitis and, now, a recent stroke. It just seemed as if Sly couldn't catch a break.

Now, the surgeons were looking to operate on the raccoon to see if they could help the situation. Therefore, Bentley decided to scope out what the procedure might be if they decided on operating. He found it quickly enough but then immediately wished he had not. A hemicraniectomy was a relatively simple procedure. The surgeon would remove part of Sly's skull to allow for his brain to safely expand until the swelling went down. While the idea of someone taking a saw to his best friend's head made him feel ill, no matter what benefits it was supposed to give, there were several other things that worried the turtle. Not to mention there were a whole set of complications that could come up with the surgery in addition to the ones he already had due to the meningitis. The list read like this, as for the meningitis: stroke (he had one already), coma (again already there), deafness, cognitive impairment, vision problems, possible speech inhibition...the stroke brought the same risks, along with motor impairment and possible seizures, and the surgery added fluid build-up, high infection risk, and other potential consequences, if the procedure isn't performed correctly.

Bentley was sure that he was as white as snow by this point. He finally slammed the laptop shut with a choked cry. He was furious that for once, his usual methods of operation were not bringing him any comfort, only pain and worry. He always relied on information to aid and comfort him during stressful times. As long as he had information or facts, he could do something, or at least confront his fear of something. This information; however, brought him no comfort, only fear. Fear that something else would go wrong. Fear that his friend would never get better. Fear that he would never get to...Bentley shook his head to get himself off that train of thought. No! He would not accept this! Sly was tough; he would pull through, he always did. Even in situations that Bentley knew he or Murray could not have navigated on their own, Sly, on his own and/or with their help, always managed to make things work, always.

Bentley realized that he did not want information anymore; he just wanted his friend back. He blinked back tears as his mind wandered back to the day that he and Sly truly met for the first time. It had been nearly a week after the raccoon came to the orphanage. Everyone did their level best to steer clear of the boy. The rumors of him being possessed by something evil were still making healthy rounds through the halls of the orphanage. The older kids would often speak of the eerie noises he made the night he was brought in. Needless to say, Bentley remained out of his way. However, it was quite a challenge due to the fact that the boy was his and Murray's new roommate. Nevertheless, one day, while all the younger kids were outside playing, that would all change...

_Flashback_

The turtle landed in the dirt, hard. Groaning, he pushed himself to his feet. His small eyes squinted around him. His glasses had been knocked off, and he was having trouble discerning some of his surroundings as the turtle was near-sighted. Although, he was sure no one was coming to help him. They were all probably glad that it wasn't them being singled out today. His usual tormentors were being particularly vicious today as his usual protector, Murray, was ill. He sighed before turning around to face his fate, knowing that running away would not do anything but make it worse. Then the turtle happened to spot some movement coming from his left. Someone wearing an old brown blanket, held together by some unseen clasp, was coming up towards the group. The blanket was pulled up and over the person's head. The reptile swore that as the figure approached, the sky began to darken, and the wind picked up. The four bullies, armadillo quadruplets, were all huddled together and terrified. The sudden drop in the temperature made the turtle break out in goose bumps. The intruder stopped in between Bentley and the bullies and just stood there.

As the four bullies began to realize that the person was not going to do anything, they started jeering at both the turtle and his mysterious…protector. They made faces and called them names, trying to get a rise out of the two. However, they never responded and just stared at the both of them, one in silence the other in a courageous stand. As the ultimate staring contest continued, Bentley happened to look down at the cloaked figure's feet and noticed a tail. It was light gray, with a visible black stripe. Could it be his new roommate that was protecting him? If it was, why was he doing it? Bentley continued to watch in timid fascination as the raccoon calmly took the boys' abuse. The turtle slid a little off to the side, so that he was no longer just staring at the back of the blanket wearer. Then he watched as one of the boys, the oldest one named Dorsey, picked up what looked like a stone, throwing it at the boy. Bentley held his breath and everything around him seemed to slow to a crawl. The rock flew through the air, hurtling towards the raccoon, but it stopped. The boy's hand came up and caught the rock in midair. Bentley could not see the catch since it happened so quickly, but he could see the faces of the armadillos though. They had gone pale, and they were shaking once more. Suddenly, the hand that held the rock slowly lowered before a single digit pointed at the boys.

"My master wants your souls," announced the raccoon in a gruff voice. A flash of lightning leapt across the now black sky, before a booming clap of thunder followed. The four ashen armadillos shrieked in terror before taking off across the lawn with tears streaming down their faces. The robed figure dropped the rock and then turned to Bentley. The turtle gathered his flagging courage and managed to squeak out,

"Thank you."

The figure nodded. Then, he began to walk away before stopping and picking something up. He then returned and held out the turtle's glasses, who took them from the raccoon, cleaning them before putting them back on. Looking up to see his new roommate, and soon-to-be best friend, up close for the first time, Bentley noticed that the raccoon had light brown eyes that seemed to stare right through the reptile. His face wasn't harsh, or cold, or even strange. He looked like a normal raccoon, except his color seemed a little paler than most. He reached his hand out to the turtle, and Bentley took it hesitantly. As Bentley was pulled to his feet, a shameful thought occurred to him; he didn't even know his own roommate's name. To Bentley's credit, the raccoon had not said much to anybody since he arrived, so it was not a one-sided problem. "So, who are you exactly? And did you really come from, well you know..." blurted the, then, nine-year old turtle nervously. The raccoon tilted his head to the side and seemed to study him, his eyes dancing.

"Well, as for who I am, you may call me Sly, Sly Cooper," he replied lightly, then his voice grew grave again, "And yes, as you have all been whispering behind my back, I do indeed come from the side of the dark one. I am merely a scout sent to study you pathetic creatures until my master comes to rule." Bentley gaped at the boy beside him.

"But-but..." croaked the turtle. The raccoon gave a calm, yet scary, grin as he turned and started back towards the orphanage.

"Come along, Bentley...I may be from the other side, but that does not mean I am immune to getting wet. The rain will be here soon," And at that moment, the first raindrop hit Bentley right on the top of his head...

_End Flashback_

Sly would continue to utilize his uncanny ability to use his surroundings and timing to his advantage. Sly would later tell Bentley the truth himself, the storm had been rolling in during recess. Not too many people had been paying attention to it, but Sly had. He had also been keeping an eye on Bentley per Murray's request, and a little of his own initiative. When the raccoon saw what was happening, he rushed over to the clothesline and snatched the blanket and a clothespin. He then fashioned the cloak he had been wearing using the items. Once he determined how far away it was, he waited until the storm was just coming over the playground before making his entrance. He then waited for the lightning to start before speaking. Where there was lightning, there would always be thunder, which just added to the overall effect. Sly had let the storm speak for him. He didn't use any "dark" gifts to encourage the storm, just his own unique sense of timing.

This ability would get him out of more than a few scrapes and earn him an ironically "magical" reputation. It became particularly handy once the trio ended up on the streets. They left the orphanage when Bentley was just 12 years old. It had been a quick, but sordid affair involving Sly, Murray, a molesting headmaster, and a mail opener. The boys had beaten a hasty retreat with a few supplies, and possessions, without ever looking back. The first few months had been rough on all of them, but through it all Sly had remained calm and collected. Between Sly and Bentley's minds, the two devised many ways to keep the group fed and alive. Sly was often bouncing from job to job that usually paid cash or something else of value to the three under the table. Despite the raccoon's seemingly indifference, the whole sorry thing had really been eating at him. Bentley would not see it until the turtle's first birthday on the street. That day Sly had...

"Hey Bent, I am a little hungry. Did you want anything?" asked Murray as he trudged past. The turtle thought about it for a few seconds. While he knew that he needed to eat, he didn't feel hungry.

"No, not right now," murmured the hacker, his heart and mind heavy. "Honestly, I think I am going to take a nap." He started to wheel himself down the hallway towards the guest room that he and Murray were sharing. He wheeled himself into the room. It was loosely decorated in brown tones. Bentley settled his chair in an empty corner, before going into his shell as much as he could and closing his eyes. When Bentley was woken up by a nightmare, he was surprised to see that night had fallen. How long had he been asleep? He looked over to see Murray asleep in his bed. He looked down at his wristwatch: 10:13 p.m. He shook off the last tremors of his nightmare before rolling out of the room and towards the living room. The reptile tried not to notice how dark it was in the corridor, lest he spooked himself again with the child-like fear. He continued pushing towards the sliver of light that was coming from the windows in the backdoors. Once he finally made his way into the living room, he was shocked to see Beatrice sitting on her couch in the dark. The light from the back doors fell perfectly on the couch, illuminating her.

"Oh, Bentley! You startled me," said the bat as she whirled around to see him sitting beside the couch.

"Why are you sitting in the dark?" asked the turtle as he strained to see the woman, even in the semi-lighted space. He heard a sniffle and quickly deduced that the bat had been having herself a good cry.

"I really did not need it. Trying to keep the power bill as low as I can, and all that," she replied off-handedly.

"I can tell you are upset," said the turtle as Beatrice sighed heavily.

"I ran by the hospital earlier, before I came home," she admitted.

"Oh, did they operate?" asked Bentley.

"No, we finally got Shaun approved for transfer to the center, and I came home after seeing him and Bryan off. Oh, by the way, your meds are by your laptop," said Beatrice, "But the doctors were talking about operating as soon as they landed. They are probably in surgery right now. The flight was only 30 minutes or so," Bentley's mind immediately pulled up picture after picture of open skulls and the turtle swallowed. They were cutting open his friend's head right now, and Bentley could do nothing about it. It had just been decided for all of them, something that angered him greatly.

"Why? Why do you suddenly get to make all the decisions!" demanded Bentley, a small part of him internally wincing at how petulant and whiny he sounded.

"Simple, I am technically yours, Sly's, and Murray's legal guardian," she said stiffly.

"Since when?" snapped the turtle, he hated not having any say in what was going on around him. It turned him back into the easily frightened turtle that he was when he was a kid. It made him feel more useless, and powerless, than he already did.

"Since Sly asked me to become the gang's guardian before the first Clockwerk job, just in case something happened to him! He wanted to make sure that you two would have options in case he wasn't there to help and protect you!" Beatrice snapped. She then clapped her hands, and the lights in the living room turned themselves on. Bentley did a double take when his eyes finally adjusted. The bat had big dark circles under her eyes, and tear-stains on her face. Her blonde hair and white fur were now muted in color and slightly matted. She probably had not had a chance to really relax or bathe thoroughly in the last week. But despite her run down look, the bat's eyes were sharp with disapproval, and they were cutting into him like knives. The turtle squirmed uncomfortably for a moment knowing that he crossed another line once again. However, the turtle, instead of apologizing, returned to his usual M.O. and became defensive.

"Still! You should have asked us, first! He actually lived with us! First, _you_ whisk him away without so much as a notice! Now, Sly is sick in the hospital, and _you_ decide to let doctors drill into his head like it was nothing but a melon!" he accused. The bat hissed in reproach and covered the distance between the two of them in the blink of an eye.

"Right! Ask you, _fils_?" she snapped derisively.

"Boy?!" Bentley protested, angrily.

"Oui! (Yes!) That is exactly what you are acting like, a little boy," she snarled. "throwing a tantrum because things are not going your way!" Bentley was stunned into silence. "You are NOT the only person that CARES about what happens to Sly! You are NOT the only person that is HURTING right now! You are NOT the only one feeling SCARED and GUILTY!" The turtle had retreated into his shell partially by the end of her rant. Then suddenly, all the air and anger seemed to leave the bat at once, and she sunk to her knees.

"But that wasn't my..." he managed to croak after a moment, but the bat cut him off,

"Sly felt guilty because he dragged you from one mess into another, even though that was never his intention. He felt guilty because Murray was harmed by that hell bent harpy the Contessa; he was practically sick over the loss of your legs. Murray felt guilty because he could not protect Sly from the Contessa's cruelties, or you from the jaws of Clock-whatever the feline bitch wanted to call herself! Both of them were just as hurt and changed by the events of that job as you were! Hell, I am still sitting here trying to figure out what I could have done to prevent this nightmare! Maybe... I should have taken you all in eons ago. It would have been tight, but maybe you would not have gotten caught up in all this mess..." Her voice was a hollow croak that sounded, in a way, louder and worse than her harsh yelling earlier. Bentley sat there and let the bat's words sink in. She was right, he was behaving like a child. He was behaving just the way he would during a heist, except this time, there was no Murray or Sly to fix the problem while harping on him about his whining. It was just him, he was all alone…again. This behavior was not going to cut it anymore, but the turtle felt helpless to change... it was just too much. Bentley retreated into his shell and sobbed until he was exhausted, before falling into a fitful sleep once more.

Suddenly, Bentley awoke to find himself back in the team van. The turtle looked around warily as he tried to discern why he was there. As he looked around the vehicle, the turtle noticed that his crossbow and other field gear were nowhere to be found. Then he noticed something vitally different, his legs did not hurt, nor did they feel unusually heavy. He looked down and almost wept when he realized that there were no scars or a wheelchair. He could walk! He hesitantly stood and walked around the van shakily. After his jubilant jaunt in the van, he noticed that an awful scent was permeating the van. Bentley groaned in disgust before beginning to search for the stench's source. Finally, the hacker stuck his head out the van and gagged. The stench was obviously coming from outside. He then looked around and slowly began to recall where he was. He was in the swamps of Haiti! The gang traveled here to take down Mz. Ruby, the Fiendish Five's Mystic and Chief Magus nearly three, almost four, years ago.

Then the tactician realized that he had abandoned his post and quickly returned to the interior of the van. His workstation was covered in plans and pictures. It was always in some form of disarray. It drove Sly nuts. Most people would assume that Bentley was the neat freak of the group; however, it was quite the opposite. Sly could almost be classified as OCD about being organized. However, unlike Bentley, he was not a mysophobe (or germophobe). Bentley had not stepped a foot outside the van since they arrived in the swamp. The turtle went back to his seat and reestablished his connection with Sly just in time to see a big heavy gate taking up much of the thief's viewing area. Bentley found himself repeating words that he said years ago.

"**What's with this industrial-sized voodoo gate? Mz. Ruby must really be trying to keep something out.**" Then Sly's voice came back across the connection. Although a bit huskier than the turtle remembered it, since Sly's voice had been starting to change around that time.

"**Or maybe, she is trying to keep something in.**" Bentley felt a shiver go down his spine. He already lived this scenario once, and he knew what laid beyond that gate, a large acid-spewing lamia (snake-woman of Greek myth origin, not a gorgon though!) that had an anthromorphic head with glittering yellow eyes and gold hair, the rest her body was that of a giant snake. She would cackle delightedly about wanting to devour the raccoon. Even as Bentley and Murray cowered in the van, her attempt would be unsuccessful because he would give Sly the code to the vault; the vault that contained the spell book that they needed to free the ghost that could tell them how to get into the inner courtyard of Mz. Ruby's lair. Then the thief would barely make the climb out of the pen before becoming snake food. The code! The scroll case lay unopened on his desk. He had not cracked it yet, and deep down he was not too keen to unlock it again. In order for Sly to survive; however, he had to give him that code. Then as the turtle started to panic, it dawned on him. It was a dream, he really did not have to answer the code because he already knew the code! But as soon as the thought occurred to the turtle, a rustling sound caught his attention. The scroll was unrolling itself, the magic already in motion. Once the scroll was completely unfurled, the sickly green magic that had been leaking from it coalesced into the shape of Mz. Ruby. The alligator's sightless glowing eyes bore into his own.

"Play my game," she taunted, "and I will give you what you seek." Bentley did not want to play this game again. The first time around, he had seen evidence of the big monster via the moving reeds but became distracted by the riddle and by the time Sly had actually reached the lamia's nest, he was torn between watching the monster try to eat his friend and answering the alligator's riddle. He remembered the pressure and the fear, but all of that was drowned out by the words she left him with after it was all over. He tried repeatedly to wake himself up, but with a heavy heart, he realized that he would have to play this memory all the way through.

"Fine," he sighed, "What is your game?"

"Answer my riddle, and the code is yours," she said slowly. Bentley never did figure out how that spell worked. It was as if Mz. Ruby, herself, had visited him via a projection.

"Go on," grumped the turtle as he tried to drown out Sly's yelps of panic as he barely dodged the lamia's strikes, and Murray's worried questions from the front seat.

"I am born 'n fear, raised 'n truth, and I come 'nto my own by deed. When comes a time that I'm called forth, I come to serve the cause of need. Wha' am I?" she said teasingly, swaying from side to side as she balanced on her tail. Bentley did not have to think as long this time, remembering the answer as it burned in his chest like a hot iron rod.

"C-courage," whispered the turtle, his voice robbed by emotions both past and present. The alligator laughed loudly.

"You a smart one turtle..." said the apparition."The code is yours; however, remember this: keep courage close... or else you will abandon him." Those damning, and haunting, words drifted through the air permeating every fiber of the turtle's being.

"No, no! I won't abandon him," protested the turtle. The alligator continued to stare right through him.

"Keep it close to ya heart, or you will abandon him," she repeated. The turtle began to shake again, just as he had the first time. The woman shook her head sadly, "You have already abandoned him, haven't you?" The criminal mastermind felt himself pale; this was not the same memory... she was supposed to dissolve back into mist and then form the numbers on the page. What was going on?

"No, I haven't abandoned him!" he screamed. "You're wrong!" but even he did not believe his words as a new thought entered his head, "I haven't abandoned him. How can you abandon a dead friend?"

"You have abandoned him in your head... You just can't admit it. Your heart is still fighting a losing battle not to give in," accused the priestess.

"NO! He IS not DEAD!" he protested. The voice taunted him one more time before disappearing into mist: "not yet". The mist gathered around the scroll before three glowing numbers appeared in the middle of the scroll: 4-4-4.

"BENT! Where is that code?" Sly's harried voice came from his computer. Bentley raced for the parchment and called out to Sly through the Binoc-cu-com,

"Sorry, Sly! **I had to overcome some personal demons to get the answer to this one. Try 4-4-4**." said Bentley shakily. The memory began fading away after that. However, this new doubtful voice continued plaguing Bentley until it hounded him out of his dreams and back into reality with a cry. The turtle gasped for air as he tried to recollect his wits. After his heart rate slowed down to normal, Bentley noticed that he was back in the guest bedroom. Beatrice must have brought him back. Guilt began to plague the turtle once more. He owed the bat an apology, especially since the turtle knew that both bats were risking their lives, and their livelihoods, to help them out. Bentley had done nothing but be a suspicious jerk about it. He slowly wheeled himself from the room as he went in search of the blonde woman. Finally finding her in the kitchen with a somewhat jovial looking Murray, which had the welcoming side effect of lifting his spirit a little bit, but it wasn't enough to deter him from his current objective. Bentley waited for Beatrice to finish fixing her coffee. The woman finally turned around and greeted Bentley.

"Good morning, Bentley," she said softly as she made her way over to the table.

"Good morning. Um, look, Beatrice... I am sorry about last night. You were right; I was acting like a child and I apologize for that," he said stiffly, as the words felt heavy on his tongue. The shame simmering in his gut was not helping either.

The bat smiled softly and said, "Apology accepted, Bentley. We are all stressed right now. Honestly, I wanted to apologize to you as well. While I don't withdraw what I said last night, I do feel that I was harsher with you than I should have been. For that, I am sorry." Bentley was actually surprised that the bat apologized; he felt he had deserved the scolding, but he agreed that maybe she could have been a bit little nicer about it.

"Apology accepted," said the turtle, before wheeling himself to the table and partaking of some of the fruit there.

"I thought we could discuss going to see Sly in a couple of days," said Beatrice slowly as she sipped on her coffee as she eyed Bentley and Murray. Her eyes lingered on Murray as she finished her thought, "there are some things that need to be addressed before we can go..."

* * *

**The bolded lines within the story are dialogue from the original Sly Cooper game! **

**And done, finally. So, what did you think...? Was it different seeing things from Bentley's perspective? And who do you think is next? Don't forget about the Easter Egg... and review please! Thanks for reading!**

**Dragon and Sword Master here, I want to apologize to both Wolfkeeper989 and to her fans, of this and all of her other stories. As of 4/30/13, this chapter has been beta-read.**


	8. S1 Episode 7: A Broken Heart

Glad you guys are enjoying my fic! Thank to all my reviewers including the ones for this story and my other Sly fics! So, this chapter features some background on the other main character that we haven't gotten a chance to really hear from in this fic! And I really apologize for the lack of updates and the shortness of the chapter. Also, I noticed some errors in earlier chapters so those have been corrected and the betaed versions of chapters 6 and 7 have been posted as well.

**Thanks again to Dragon and Sword Master for his betaing prowess!**

**Your hints for this chapter: There are **_**no**_** Easter Eggs in this chapter. Sorry. **

**Also, please don't forget about my new poll! The top five villains:**

**1. Neyla**

**2. Panda King**

**3. Arpeggio**

**4. Clockwerk**

**5. Dimitri**

**If you do not see your favorite up here, vote!**

**Disclaimer: ****Sly Cooper and other related characters are ****formerly the property of Sucker Punch, inc. and currently the property of Sanzaru, Inc.**** except for Beatrice Montreal, Bryan Moliere, Desiree Mallery, Desiree Monroe, Nautica Macavity, Aubrey Lancaster, Ann Minaret, Armand Jaeger, Phillip Dumont, and Claire Bennet which all belong to me. ****Carmen Fox, Carlos Diego Fox, Kitty Petro, and Ling Chu belong to Kitty Petro****.**

_**Season 1: "When Strangers Meet"**_

_**Arc 2: "Cast Adrift"**_

**Episode 7: **

**A Broken Heart**

"We are finally going to get to see Sly?" blurted the hippo. Beatrice smiled, the hippo's enthusiasm was infectious. Especially in a house that really lacked any other positive emotion.

"Yes, we hopefully will get to see him soon," said the bat, "but, some rules will have to be followed."

"What rules?" Bentley asked as he peeled a banana.

"Why?" blurted Murray at the same time.

"Murray, did Bentley tell you that Sly needed an operation?" She asked. The hippo felt his jaw drop along with his heart. He looked over at the turtle and watched him wilt under his stare, "It's okay, he probably did not get the chance to."

"So, what exactly did they do?" The mammal asked.

"They had to operate on Sly's head. They had to remove part of his skull, because his brain had begun to swell. Removing the bone would allow more room for his brain to swell without the excessive pressure. The pressure would've caused more damage if they had not operated." Beatrice explained.

"Well, I guess that would make some sense." said Murray softly. "But what does that have to do with us going to see him?"

"The day we go to see Shaun, we will not be able to go in the same room with him. Because his immune system is very weak right now and we could accidently make him sicker," Beatrice explained between bites. "Also, his head was going to look a little different to you and I did not want you to be too surprised by it."

"Ok. So, rule 1 is we can't be in the same room with Sly. Rule 2, don't be surprised if Sly looks like the Brain from Doom Patrol. Got it." said Murray with forced ease. This poor attempt at humor was met with a groan from Bentley and a wan smile from Beatrice.

"For the most part, Murray." she chuckled while Bentley shook his head with a small grin. Murray felt a small smile make its way onto his face at the sight of two of his friends smiling after nearly two weeks and some cases months without one.

"They only removed part of his skull, Murray. Then they sewed him back up. No equipment or head gear needed, pal." said Bentley.

"I know. I was only kidding," said Murray as he tried to imagine Sly with part of his skull missing. All his attempts just turned out silly or just plain scary. Finally, the teen decided that it would be better to just let it go and listen to what else Beatrice had to say.

"All in all joking aside, he doesn't look good. He has grown thin, the doctors say he has lost about ten pounds in the last week alone. Then the recent surgery will leave him looking worse. They have him on bunch of monitors and equipment, too. It is jarring no matter how many times you see it." she said softly as she rose to put her dishes away.

"So, any more bad news?" grumbled Bentley as he took a bite of the fruit. The bat just rolled her eyes. The hippo noted that she did not say anything in response to Bentley's grumpiness this time. He had heard them fighting about it the night before. She was starting to see that Bentley's behavior was standard and that the best she could do was to just ignore it. She continued to talk as she cleaned up her dishes. Murray had started off listening to the bat, but the hippo's mind began to wander again.

It was slowly piecing together the scenario that Beatrice had been describing earlier. But, unfortunately, it was a little too much to bear. So, he unconsciously began to utilize the a trick he had been taught to him by his great-grandmother. He would treat the situation like a scene on a stage and alter it to what he needed or felt it should be. His great-grandmother had been a stage actress during her prime years. She firmly ascribed to the belief that the world was nothing but a big stage. And the best commanders of the scenes were the ones that succeeded in the end.

"Now, go out there and own your stage, Murdock!" she used to tell him as a boy. That was back before the dementia completely eclipsed her mind. But her words never left him. As a kid, Murray had taken those words to heart. He had begun taking command of the scenes in his life and twisting them to suit his needs. But, sadly, as a kid, he could only use his imagination to achieve that end. And now, it had become a habit. But, it was a useful habit that had helped him navigate a myriad of events. Any "scene" or situation that Murray could not handle was immediately altered in his head. He would even go so far to attempt to modify the physical world to match his mental world, "The Murray" persona was a noticeable attempt. Even now, he was still attempting to put those skills to use. Even though he knew this was a situation he could not really alter. But the hippo was persistent like that.

His mind was already picturing a stark white room with white sheets and blankets on a hospital bed. The instruments and monitors white and black. There were only two other colors present in the room, one of which was gray. Sly's gray and black fur was dull and mostly hidden beneath the white washed linens. The raccoon's head was swathed in crisp, snowy bandages, which made the crimson stain on one side of it stand out vividly in the monochromatic room. This scene occupied a weird space in Murray's head. It was sharp and very vivid, yet it almost felt surreal. All the white in the room made it look larger than was. This only served to make Sly look smaller and way more frailer than he looked already. The machines emitted long mournful tones in a steady rhythm like a funeral march. The hippo swallowed reflexively before putting his imagination to work. The room grew smaller and therefore, less intimidating than before. Then he changed the walls from white to blue, the color of Sly's favorite shirt. He then turned the blankets a deep green. He then got rid of all the overbearing machines along with their tubes and wires. He erased the crimson stain from the bandages, while he was at it. He then added a window, and then a single chair. He went over and sat in the chair, pulling it close to the ailing thief's bedside. While the bandages had remained on his friend's head, the other changes made it look as if Sly was just sleeping. Murray was almost convinced that he could shake Sly and the teen would wake up and glare at the hippo for not waking up him earlier. Sly had always been an early riser, ironically. He started to reach for the raccoon's shoulder and stopped.

"Sly?" called Murray. There was no response. "Sly!" His voice was louder this time. The thief's face scrunched up and he sighed. After a moment, Sly's tired brown eyes opened slowly.

"Murray?" he asked softly.

"Sly! Are you ok?" the hippo cried. The thief licked his lips.

"I feel awful, what happened?" he moaned, turning his head towards the hippo.

"You fell ill at Beatrice's house. You collapsed and she called an ambulance. You have been out for more than a week!" he explained in a rush.

"More than a week?!" he blurted weakly. "Man, I have really been laying down on the job, haven't I?"

"We really need you to come back, Sly. Things, we, are falling apart." Murray pleaded.

"I am sorry, Murray. I am just too tired." he moaned. Sly's eyes started to slid shut.

"No! Sly, please don't go!" cried Murray desperately. "I can't do this! I can't be a leader!"

"Yes, you can, Murray." said the raccoon, his eyes finally closing.

"Sly! Wake up, please! I don't know what do! Sly!" Murray screamed. The raccoon did not move or flinch. He just lay there. Murray could only stare at Sly's prone form desolately as all his mental machinations began to unravel. The walls and linens lost their color, while the machines and tubes made a reappearance. The plastic devices wrapped themselves around Sly's mouth, nose, and body until they were all back in their proper places. Then the image began to fade away altogether, until Murray was left standing alone in an endless white void. But Murray was yanked from the void when he felt someone lay their hand on his shoulder. The hippo awoke from his trance to see Beatrice looking at him worriedly.

"You ok big guy?" she asked. He nodded jerkily.

"I guess, I'm just worried. Sly is really sick this time. And it's a little, well a lot, disturbing." said the hippo as his mind traveled back to the weird mental scene earlier.

"We are all worried about him, Murray. All we can do for him now is to stay positive." said the bat softly. The hippo did not say anything, then Bentley asked,

"What were you saying about security?" The bat blinked and began to talk about the facility that Sly was currently being housed in.

"Whispering Rock is a medical facility that supports the health and provides treatment for magi and persons that are beyond the ability of conventional medicine to help. The security mostly comes from the fact that technically the facility is a government secret. As you both already know, magic and anything to do with it is treated as a government secret." explained Beatrice. The two young men nodded in agreement. "This particular center is being run out of an old, hidden magi village. The village's renewal and medical center's construction was apparently commissioned by a billionaire magus. It is listed as a private entity and it has its own private security firm. Add to that most people can't see it, it is a pretty secure location."

"And Sly was admitted because you knew someone that worked there?" asked the turtle. Murray for once did not roll his eyes at Bentley's need for miniscule details. He wanted to know everything about Sly's situation that he could.

"Yes, Phillip Dumont shared a small house with us during our university years. He was studying to be a psychiatrist. Now, coming forward in time, he was required by his old job to attend a training seminar about a year or so ago. It was there he learned about magi and then was given the Whispering Rock job after his old job fired him," she said. Bentley nodded.

"How far away is this place?" asked Bentley.

"A little more than an hour from here," she answered.

"When are we going to see him?" asked the hippo.

"Probably on Saturday, when half the world is sleeping off their New Year's hangovers," muttered Beatrice, turning it into a sarcastic quip at the end. Murray grinned slightly.

"Why tell us now, though?" Murray asked as he continued to partake of the breakfast on the table.

"I just wanted you to know what to expect," said Beatrice as Bentley pushed away from the table. The turtle took his trash to the trash can while the bat turned her full attention to the hippo. She lowered her voice, "Some people need time to adjust to the situation, or else they don't handle it well." She then picked up the novel she had been looking over for her boss, something called, Timeline by a guy named Michael Crichton.

"I guess that is true," mumbled the hippo as the turtle made his way back to the table and Beatrice made her way out of the kitchen. "What do we do now?" he asked the turtle.

"Honestly, Murray, I don't know," said Bentley as he leaned on the table. "There isn't much we can do at this point. We have to wait until Sly wakes up or... deteriorates to the point that he is beyond medical help." Murray heart's froze at that declaration.

"Isn't he beyond medical help already?" squeaked the hippo. The turtle had turned introspective and wasn't even looking in Murray's direction anymore.

"Not exactly, coma's are an indication of a serious brain injury, however, it is the body's natural defense against trauma. The body goes into a hibernating state to try to heal itself. They normally last two- four weeks before the person re-awakens. After the four week mark, the diagnosis could be changed to a continuous coma or a persistent vegetative state depending on the behavior that Sly may exhibit. " recited the turtle in an off voice. "But longer he remains this way, the worse the prognosis gets in the long run, " Murray sighed.

"So, what happens if Sly isn't getting any better in four weeks?" pressed Murray. Bentley looked at Murray suddenly as if he had just remembered that the hippo was there.

"I... don't... know! I guess, we just have to move on, Murray," the turtle said in frustration before finally leaving the room. Murray groaned. Move on? How were they supposed to do that? They couldn't be thieves anymore. Bentley still needed heavy amounts of care and graceful was definitely not his middle name. They could not pull any jobs without the raccoon. They had already been risking a lot by remaining in Paris for so long after the parts ordeal, but for many reasons the gang had to stay put. The initial reason had been to nurse some still healing wounds, before globe hopping. Now Sly was gravely ill and they could be stuck in France for a many weeks until he woke up, or they were forced to leave because of the police. Murray was now the leader simply because of his age and Bentley was no more comfortable being a leader than he was, no matter how often Bentley tried to verbally override Sly.

Which lead to Murray's current problem, he _knew_ he was no Sly Cooper. That was a huge part of the problem. He was going to have to take over looking after Bentley on a full time basis. Which would not be a problem, if he at least had Bentley's respect. Then the turtle would be much easier to deal with. Because up until the recent fallout, Bentley, along with himself, had respected and admired Sly greatly. The boy was a year younger than he was, but every since the day that they had met, the raccoon had been their unofficial leader and caretaker. While, the hippo had been relegated to the role of older sibling. Murray did not mind playing the older sibling , in his opinion he was well suited for it. He had felt strong enough to protect Bentley and watch Sly's back. But he had never handled the pressure of being a decision maker well. Give him a direction, he would make sure no one else could carry it out better.

This attitude often gave people the idea that he had no mind or ambition of his own, which wasn't true at all. Unfortunately, he felt Bentley was one of those people. It seemed like he always talked to him and Sly in the same manner inside or outside of a job. Of course, that is why Sly tended to keep a tight leash on Bentley. The raccoon always gave as good as he got. Murray always paid attention to the verbal byplay between the two. Bentley would talk to Sly on an even footing, not dumb down whatever he needed doing. Whereas sometimes Bentley would talk to him as if he had no brain. It was annoying but he understood that expediency was necessary during heists and jobs. That did not mean that it did not make the hippo feel undervalued. He knew that he could be a klutz and that he was a little accident prone, but that did not give the turtle the right to make him feel like he was less than.

Now, since he had lost his legs, he had been even more on the overbearing side. Although, he had changed his tune somewhat since being at the bats' home. And Murray was sure that had been mostly due to the fact that the bats had not been afraid to get in the turtle's face if he crossed a line. But what happens when they weren't around to keep him on an even keel? Despite being the muscle of the group, Murray hated fighting with his friends. He usually went along with anything that came up, because it was easier that way and it made everybody happy. He knew that he wouldn't be able to continue to take Bentley's acidic behavior forever, but he could not imagine leaving the turtle to fend for himself, either. It was like Murray was back with his great-grandmother again. Either way he turned, he lost.

At about the age of six, his great-grandfather had a stroke and Murray had been left behind to care for his ailing great-grandmother. Initially, his aunt had moved in to help care for her. As Murray had not known at the time that his great-grandmother had developed a form of aggressive dementia in the months leading up to his great-grandfather's stroke and death. But after about 4 months of constantly being harassed by the ailing woman, his aunt left and didn't not even bother saying good-bye. So, the six year old was left to care for a woman that never really recognized him anymore. On a good day, she would call him, Murray, that had been his great-grandfather's name. He would just always answer because she would become less agitated that way. He would make sandwiches for himself and her. He would do what he could so that they would be okay. But it was hard, the washer was too tall, but he managed. He had to constantly go to the store. He still had homework to complete when he was through cleaning and finding food. That was during the good days. The bad days were the days that she would not recognize him at all. She would yell and rave at him to get out, even resort to throwing things at him. He would have to stay at the library near her house until she calmed down. Then he had to sneak in after she fell asleep watching TV. It went on like this for almost two and a half years.

The year he was supposed to turn 9 years old, he came home to have one of his bad days. She yelled and raved at him like normal, except this time she called the police. The police had come to the house and Murray had explained that he was her great-grandson and that she was forgetting things. Thankfully the police officer believed him and allowed him to call his aunt to confirm the details. She confirmed that he was related. The police had taken him to the orphanage afterwards because child welfare had decided that his great-grandmother could not care for him properly in her condition and his aunt had refused to take him in. He had actually been glad to move into the orphanage, he no longer had to worry about anything. He would be fed and looked after and all he had to do was clean up after himself. He then would meet Bentley and they would become, sort of friends. Then two years later, he would meet Sly, the unlikeliest person to become his best friend. Because the raccoon had not always been a bed of roses or a kid for that matter. The hippo made himself comfortable in the chair as he thought back to the day he met Sly. Ironically, he and Bentley had met Sly on the same day. Bentley had meet him in the afternoon during recess. Murray had met him in the morning.

He had been sick with a cold and had been bed ridden most of the day, per the matron's instructions. He had been napping on and off most of the morning and had been awoken by the sound of sniffling. The hippo had thought it may have been Bentley. But when he finally woke up good, he noticed that the middle cot was empty, but the bed at the far end was not. There was a black blob resting in the middle of it. The sounds of suppressed sobs was coming from there. For all the rumors, Murray felt more sorry for the new kid than scared of him. After all, when someone ends up in an orphanage something bad had to have happened to them or their family. Besides, even though everyone said the boy was evil, he had been pretty nice to a lot of the kids in the orphanage. Just yesterday, he had seen the kid wrestle Annie's doll back from Felix, a tomcat with a mean streak. Then at dinner he had shared his dinner with the hippo. After a moment of debate, Murray heaved himself from his cot. He then lumbered slowly over to where the raccoon was laying. He opened his mouth to ask if the raccoon was going to be ok and if he should go find an adult. But before he could say anything, the raccoon spoke,

"Yes, Murray?" The hippo did a double take.

"How do you know my name?" gasped the hippo. The boy unfurled slightly, but did not roll over.

"These ears on my head are not just for decoration, Murray." muttered the raccoon. Murray frowned.

"I know, they are for hearing things." stated the hippo.

"I was being sarcastic, Murray." he explained softly.

"Oh. I don't get the whole sarcasm thing. Why don't people just say what they mean?!" grumbled Murray to himself.

"I am sorry. I did not mean to upset you. I am- not in a great mood at the moment." said the raccoon.

"You talk like a grown-up," muttered Murray querulously, still a little stung from the raccoon's sarcasm.

"No, I talk like myself," said the rebellious ball of fur.

"Well, it sounds weird," said the marine mammal. The raccoon let out a watery laugh.

"What about me isn't weird?" he muttered, "Look, I overhear you and Bentley talking during the day. So, that is how I know your name,"

"oh, well that makes sense," said the hippo, more relaxed after the apology and explanation. The boy on the cot finally rolled over to face Murray. His eyes were red and puffy, but other than that, he looked like a normal boy. Murray felt a little disappointed. All the rumors had just been hype. The kid did not even have horns or a pitchfork!

"So, why exactly did you come over here?" He asked as he wiped his face on a black sleeve.

"I just wanted to see if you were okay, and ask if you wanted to read some comics," He said hopefully. The hippo had been super bored from the beginning, but he couldn't come up with a good reason to bother the "demonic" new kid.

"Oh," said the boy in part surprise and part shame. "I am –f – okay, just thinking too much." Murray did not believe the raccoon, but decided not to upset the little guy by being nosy. Besides, he wanted to be careful, just in case those rumors were not all hype. "But, I guess I can look at these – what did you call them again?"

"Comics," said Murray, slightly surprised, "You know the books with the pictures and stories about superheroes and bad guys and stuff!" The raccoon blinked and thought to himself a moment.

"Are you taking about a manga or manhua?" asked the boy.

"A what?" blurted the hippo.

"They are similar to the comics that you described." he said softly. The hippo nodded and then rushed back to his side of the room. He then dug under his bed and pulled out a box. He dug through the box for a moment before deciding on one of the booklets in there and pulling one out. Then he put the box back and made his way to the other side of the room.

"This is a comic." he said as he held the bright booklet up to the raccoon's face.

"It is brighter than I expected..." muttered the boy. Murray laughed.

"You are funny, -Hey what is your name by the way?" The hippo asked as he sat on the raccoon's rickety cot. The raccoon moved over slightly to make room for the hippo. The raccoon seemed to be stumped for a moment, then he spoke,

"My name is Sylvester Connor Cooper, but you can call me, Sly,"

"Okay, well it is nice to finally meet you Sly," said Murray as the hippo quickly and eagerly opened the comic to the first page and began to read. Sly busied himself with looking at the pictures of a crimson clad hero making his way along a rooftop...

It would be shocking to most people to discover that Sly wasn't always the social butterfly. No, in fact, Sly had been an awkward kid. He had been a "strange, but nice kid" to most of the orphanage. To the others he was evil incarnate. Apparently, because he spent a lot of time being home schooled and training with his mom for the first eight years of his life and then spent two years on the run with his father and his gang, Sly did not really get to interact with kids his own age. Most of his time had been spent climbing trees, playing with animals, and reading textbooks. Most of his socialization had been with adults, but that hadn't stopped him from being an unusually observant and perceptive person. However, things like comic books and popular movies were foreign concepts. But as soon as Sly was introduced to them, he wanted to know everything about them. Murray remembered when Sly first heard of Star Wars, it happened on that same day. After recess, Bentley and Sly returned to the room. Sly was wearing a brown blanket around his shoulders, Murray laughed. He then blurted out,

"May the force be with you, Sly!" Bentley giggle nervously while Sly tilted his head in confusion.

"Huh?" said the boy. Then Murray recalled that sly had never seen a comic before.

"You haven't seen Star Wars, have you?" asked Murray. The raccoon shook his head.

"No, what is it?" He asked as he took off the blanket and dropped it onto Bentley's cot. Murray was just itching to show the raccoon the tapes under his bed, but they were not allowed to use the TV. But a few days later, the soon-to-be Cooper Gang would devise and perform their first break-in and theft while the rest of the children were at the park. After all, how could they watch a good movie without an equally good snack? The Matron's cookies went divinely with Star Wars...

Murray shook himself out of his memories. He slowly stood up and ambled over to the sink and began to clean his plate. He cleaned his dishes almost by habit now. Shaun was nuts about keeping the kitchen clean, but it won't matter if Shaun did not get better soon.

**Two days later...**

They had all piled into Bryan's car once more early this morning. They had been driving since 8:58 this morning, it was now 9:19 am. Beatrice said that they still had about 40 minutes to go. They were going to Whispering Rock to see Sly today. Beatrice's snarky prediction at the table on Thursday had been spot on. They had not passed too many people on the road today. Murray was settled as comfortably as he could be in the back seat. An uneasy energy had been moving through the hippo ever since they had started their journey. He was not sure what was causing it, though. He was convinced that maybe it had to do with his worry about what kind of condition Sly was in.

After all, the last time he had seen Sly in a hospital setting was after he had been pulled from "the Hole" by Bentley and some unknown accomplice. The raccoon had been swathed in bandages and sore; but he had been awake and talking at least when the hippo was brought in. But this time would be truly different. Sly wasn't just recovering, he was hovering in that dreaded gray space between life and death. If the hippo were honest, he would admit that he was also hugely nervous about being in a hospital period. When he was younger, he had been taken to the hospital when his grandfather had his stroke. The place had been sterile and impersonal. He never wanted to go back.

Then he ended up in that crazy witch's horror house that she passed as a rehabilitation center. Ha! That was just as bad as the Nazis calling the gas chambers "showers". So, needless to say, he was not fond at all of this Whispering Rock place and he had not even stepped foot in it yet. Murray shuddered to himself as a numbing cold had settled in his bones when he thought about the prison. The terror, violence, and hopelessness of the place had marked Murray. It was embedded in his skin and in his mind. He reluctantly thought back to the day he had been brought in to that hellish place.

_Flashback_

It had been early morning when they had arrived, the sun was just beginning to rise. They had driven into the prison yard and a heavy gate had closed behind them with a bellowing bang. The van they had been kept in had no light. So, what little light was being provided by the dawn was almost blinding to him and his companion. They had been ordered out of the van. He blinked owlishly as they shambled towards a somewhat squat and gothic looking building. The grounds looked half dead. The grass was scattered around in clumps, some of it was a pale green but most of it was a sickly yellow color. They were forced to walk into the building. There were a few torches along the way but not much else. The hippo had to take slow, steady steps or else he would tumble down the stairs and probably kill Sly, who was in front of the hippo, in the process. The raccoon was tethered to the hippo by a chain and collar on his neck.

In the beginning, Murray had been furious that they had been betrayed by that two faced tigress. But as they drew closer and closer to the prison his fury had given way to fear. Fear of what had happened to Bentley... fear of what was going to become of them. The hippo was forced to abandon his mental monologue when the winding descent abruptly ended and opened up into a semi lit cavern lined with rows and rows of cells. The cells themselves did not scare the hippo, but the inmates within them did. They were screaming and yelling. Some were swinging from the bars, baring and gnashing their teeth. Others were attempting to tear the bars off of their hinges and trying to swipe at them through the bars. Murray inwardly recoiled at the manic gleam in their eyes. They were mad, every last one of those howling horrors were mad. Murray's feet were frozen, rooted to the stone floor. He could not move, he felt like prey caught in the gaze of a ravenous predator. The rattling of a chain and a surprised squeak pulled the hippo out of his petrified state. Sly had not realized that he had stopped walking and ended up nearly being choked by the collar. The disgruntled raccoon turned as much as the chain would allow to look at him.

"Murray?" he asked softly. His eyes gleamed with fear and concern. The bull* decided to be honest, but discreet as the guard forced them to start walking again. He used the language that they had devised between the three of them to hid their activities from nosy orphans, guards, or whoever decided to listen in on their conversations.

"Sly, ve qi wōide." he said. He watch the back of the raccoon's head dip slightly in acknowledgment. (Sly, I'm scared.)

"Ve qi mi qo, Murray." he replied and Murray felt some more of his resolve die at those words. (Me too, Murray.)

"Dō quō dōu ni o?" he asked as his eyes continued to roam about the prison taking in the sights of the maniacal show playing out all around him as they were guided through the prison. (What do we do now?)

"Ni o? Dō quō a'zomi..." came the soft reply, Murray almost did not hear it. His shoulders slumped even further. (Now? We do nothing...)

"Abui Bentley o?" he asked, half dreading the answer. The raccoon's shoulders rose and fell once. (What about Bentley?)

"A'savi qi. Mā senī heqis qe." Sly said forlornly. (I don't know. May magic keep him. (or in this case, I hope he is ok)).

"Just toss the hippo in here. I want to talk to Cooper, first." said a crisp female voice from behind the hippo, causing the mammal to stiffen in rage. One of the guards moved up and latched another length of chain to the front of Sly's collar. Then another wolf guard stepped up and undid the chain attached to the back of Sly's collar and began to lead the hippo towards an open cell. Murray wanted to fight but there were two vulture guards with their crossbows pointed at his back. He decided he was not ready to die just yet. He was lead into the cell and to the back wall. He did as instructed and faced the wall. Then once his hands were freed from the cuffs, he placed them on the wall. He then felt the choking collar fall away. He listened to the sound of clattering chains get further away and then he heard a damning slam as the cell door was pulled closed. Murray turned around to see Sly staring mournfully at him. Then Murray watched as the raccoon's expression turned into one of sheer determination. He mouthed the words, "I will find a way to get us out. I promise." Murray did not bother to reply or give any indication that the other teen had said anything. He instead went to the hanging cot and sat down on it. He put his head in his hands.

"Mā senī heqis qō, Murray. Ve a'wōide... " Sly said. The hippo's head jerked up and he caught his best friend's eyes one last time. (May magic keep you, Murray. Be brave.)

"Ube. Senī heqis qō, Sly." the hippo replied and then the raccoon was gone (Ok. Magic keep you, Sly)...

* * *

_*bull is another name for a male hippo!_

**Ok! Finished! I am really sorry about the unexpected four week hiatus. My life became a little hectic. But I should be back on track now... *crosses fingers***

**As for the Easter Egg hunt... the Easter eggs will revealed at the end of this month since I am a bit off. **

**And as for the language I used, it is a constructed language I made myself for this story. You'll see more of it as the story and series progresses.**

**The phrase "** **May magic keep you/him/her" is a rather versatile phrase, depending on how it is used. It can be used as a greeting or as a farewell... or it can used to wish someone well or to wish for their safety... kind of like the phrase May God bless you or may you be blessed...**

**Alright, I am out! Please review! Thanks! **


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